Batman: Prisoner of Arkham
by The lovable writer
Summary: The inmates of Arkham find themselves in the midst of a series of dangerous events as a new inmate is welcomed to Gothams famous Asylum. An inmate called Bruce Wayne. Plotting, mystery and betrayal ensue. Please Read and Review.
1. Chapter 1

Before I was in Arkham, before I became Scarecrow, I used to read so many psychological reports.

One report sticks in the mind, given my current situation, a report discussing the possibility that there was a correlation between suicidal tendencies and serving time in jail. Psychologists can be very lazy sometimes. It was hypothesised that jail takes away from the humans basics hierarchy of needs.

The first layer, basic physiological existence. Every morning the hatch door slips open and food and water is provided. Soup and bread. Nothing fancy. This prison isn't for our rehabilitation to society. We're beyond that. This is about punishment. There isn't a soul in Gotham City who doesn't agree we shouldn't suffer. There isn't a soul who will welcome me back to the streets.

Food and water is just to keep us alive.

This layer also references sex, but in a jail, I'm not gonna lament on that.

o o o o o o o o

Everything about Arkham seemed to show off the harsh nature about it. The tide had battered against the coast of Arkham Island without mercy, leaving it a jagged array. To taunt the unfortunate inhabitant of Arkham, the sight of Gotham took over the city skyline. The beautiful skyscrapers piercing the clouds, separated by a mile of water. This mile of water had stopped its latest desperate escape, Edward Nigma, the Riddler.

"That's the problem with prisons. They're not easy to escape."

The familiar gruff voice. A familiar series of events generally ensued.

Nigma turned and swung out. His fist was half way through its journey before meeting the familiar leather fists stopping fist in its path. The second fist followed quickly, it's path eventually being stopped by Nigma's face. Batman wasn't finished though, quickly delivering two quick blows, first to the stomach, than returning to the jaw with a vengeance.

Hurtling back now, Edward Nigma found himself gripped by his now well accustomed friend of unconsciousness.

o o o o o o o o o

The third ring is personal comfort. Friendship. Family. And once again, sex.

Sex pops up a lot in this list.

There's a small crack in the side of the cell. On a good night I can get a quiet conversation with next door. A quiet conversation to the next door psychopath with only a wall to separate to hit us. The entire spectrum of friendship, love and sex is all ground down into that. And anyway, my neighbour slit his wrists two weeks back. We wont be having any more conversations.

o o o o o o o o o

"How did you get out of Arkham Riddler?" Batman rasped.

"This is the part where I give the obligatory Riddle."

The looming structure of Arkham Asylum was coming into view. The battered Gothic building was centuries old, twisted and battered by time. It was the place of nightmares. It was the place the monsters under the bed had nightmares about.

The Riddler was being dragged along the ground back home. The last half hour had passed in silence, but on an island deserted from everything, the souls sucked from any person on the island. Even Batman needed a reminder there was some humanity in the world. And an answer to questions were always helpful. Knowing is half the battle.

"I didn't ask for a riddle. I asked for an answer." Batman barked back.

"Oh that's a shame. This is a fun little riddle." Riddler chuckled.

Sanity and insanity. Order and chaos. Hero and villain. Despite the Riddlers predicament, he was creating an excellent stand-off.

"How? Why? What?" The Riddler recited.

"What exactly is that?" Batman asked.

"A riddle is just an anomaly that requires a solution. You already have that, I'm just giving it to you in question. So as I said. How? Why? What?"

So much for conversation Batman thought to himself. There might be humanity left in the Riddler, left in Edward Nigma. But he wasn't here to find it. He was just putting something back in its place.

o o o o o o o o o

The final layer of the spectrum is self actualisation. Morality, acceptance, spontaneity.

My jail cell is 7 foot steps wide by 8 footsteps long. When I stretch my arms I can nearly touch the ceiling. I spent half my life forcing peoples darkest nightmares and the next half in jail. I will almost never see the light of day again. I will never find myself with any of those things and I will never find myself needing them.

To say someone takes their own life here is inaccurate. This isn't a life. This is an existence. My neighbour wasn't ending it all, he was just brushing away what remained.

This is how the story of the Scarecrow will end. Rotting away in a cold cell, everything that once made me a legend, stripped away. Till I'm nothing but an empty shell.

o o o o o o o o o

"We can't thank you enough Batman. Prisoner escapes can be pretty difficult, you made life a lot easier."

"No thanks necessary. It's what I do."

The Riddler was having a straight jacket fitted. He accepted his fate without struggle, accept for the glint in his eyes that might chill a man if they were to star too long at him. The stare and other factors all contributed to the security that surrounded him. No inmate of Arkham could be trusted.

The Riddler was being pulled away, tha for a brief second he stopped, alerting all the guards. He started at Batman, a smile slowly maifesting on his face.

"The Riddle earlier. How? Why? What? Want to know the answer?"

Batman was silent.

"The anomaly, the puny man escaping the inescapable prison. The answers. How? They let me out. Why? They wanted you. What now? Now, welcome to the family."

Than for a brief second everyone was still. And Batman looked at the guards around him. The way they looked at Riddler. The fear and the wonder at the crazed figure they saw before them. A figure strayed so far into the abyss the humanity seemed to have been lost in the journey. And the masks of violence and strength to hide these fears. That was how they stared at The Riddler.

It was now how they stared at him.

Batman swung out at the first guard before he could even make a move. Their was a brief thud and Batman knew the guard was no longer a threat. The other two were raising their guns.

Batman rushed forward. He flung one hand out and watched a flash of black rush on ahead, disarming the first guard. The second turned for a moment, in shock. It was a moment too long. He turned back just in time to have his vision filled with the dark boots of the prey turning the tables.

After that the world was blurry and his senses to focused on the throbbing pain spreading across his face. A pain that was blocking out the knowledge he was being hoisted into the air, shrouding the Dark Knight from the final guard, the one lucky enough to be able to draw his gun.

The final guard was scarred. He was terrified. Every day he found himself face to face with the usual barrage of freaks. But this one was armed, and he was right in front of him. Time to act.

"Drop your gun and we'll end this now." Batman said, his voice quiet, focused.

First shot. Not a gun shot. Silent, high pitched. A tranquiliser. The guard fell. His shield was gone.

Second shot. A thud to the chest. Than the world started melting.

Third shot. Thud. The world is quiet. The world is spinning. Nothing except the maniacal laughter of the Riddler.

Laughing as the darkness takes hold.

o o o o o o o o o

All those needs robbed from us. All the humanity gone. Each day closer to suicide.

When Bruce Wayne became the latest guest in the worlds worst hotel, I gave him two weeks, at best.

Little did I know he would present such an interesting story to tell.

**To Be Continued...**

_**Please Review and let me know what you think, this is an idea I've been putting quite a bit of thought into and I hope to continue the story and give the readers some enjoyment.**_


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep is nice. For a few hours, the world fades away, taking all the problems and dilemma's away with it. Sleep is in escape to a dreamworld. And in Arkham, an escape is nice.

Most dreams feature the same person though. The Batman.

o o o o o o o o o

The leathery cowl filling his closing hands. The tightening neck muscles trying to find a non-existent supply of oxygen. A few final wretches of breath, the last ounces of life slipping away. The death of The Batman. Than gunshots. Blackness. A spectacular death. A happy death. Relief.

This was the only dream Deadshot had ever had.

The final moments of his spectacular death was normally the transition from sleep to reality, waking up smiling, like the blood of the Caped Crusader was still on his face.

Tonight was different. Tonight there was no spectacular death. Tonight there was whispering.

"Wake up. Wake up. I know you can hear me."

Deadshot tried to remain silent for a few moments. To maybe drift back to his spectacular death.

"I know you're awake. I'm not going to stop speaking. I can go on and on and on. I have a quite a few Riddles to tell if you'd like."

Deadshot gave in.

"What?"

"We have company." The Riddler replied.

Their are several levels to Arkham Asylum. It had been five years, but Deadshot found himself in the minimum risk sector. He found himself with a barred window, an adequate toilet and sink, and the occasional heavily censored paper back.

And outside these barred windows events were happening. Outside their were vehicles. Officers. Arguing. Deadshot looked for as long as he dared. Freedom was almost in his sight now and he wasn't going to blow it all, staring at a group of guys who had slightly different uniforms than the norm.

They were approaching the building now, brandishing papers. Particularly effective papers, the sort that could force guards back with a single glance, and grant access to some of the most dangerous minds in Gotham.

"Perhaps one of us is getting out?" Deadshot suggested.

"Optimistic. You believe it might be you?" The Riddler enquired.

Deadshot had had this conversation before. Often. It was a dance he'd rehearsed hundreds of times.

"This is a correctional facility. I've been corrected. I'm cured." Deadshot recited.

"For real Deadshot?" The Riddler replied, not bothering to hide the disbelief in his voice.

"I'm not Deadshot anymore. I'm Floyd Lawton. And how do you think I'm gonna reply to that question?"

"Nothing asked, nothing gained."

There were voices now. People were talking. This was unusual. Good sleeping patterns were necessary to aiding the rehabilitation of the psychologically damaged housed in Arkham. The people here didn't seem to care much for that. The voices were closer now. And angry.

"As much as I love to here your opinions, I'm afraid your opinions, I'm afraid you're no longer in a position where they matter. I however, recently found myself in a position where mine do. The Head of Arkham, position in fact. So I'm afraid you're going to be shown of my property now."

Everyone knew everyone in Arkham. They had the time. And now as the argument ended, all the familiar voices were gone. Now they were facing a strange unknown.

"Pick a door. The cryptic psycho? Or the angry psycho?" The first of the new voices asked.

"The cryptic. I'm not risking more than we already are are." The second new voice replied.

A normal guard would have had keys. He would have unlocked the door and restrained the prisoner. There wouldn't have been a bang. A creak of battered metal. And the shout of a deluded mad man. These men weren't normal guards.

For a few seconds Deadshot looked at his barred window, his adequate toilet and sink, and his heavily censored paper back. Than he thought of the sleep that had been interrupted by the cryptic psycho. Than he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Back to his spectacular death.

o o o o o o o o

Hours passed. People slept again. What else could they do.

When Deadshot woke up again. He did so with a slow chuckling finding its way through his walls, filling up the room.

"You're alive. And back?" Deadshot asked.

There was a long pause, allowing Deadshot to contemplate all manner of possibilities, and finding each one to be as unwelcome as the last.

Finally the chuckling subsided.

"It's a shame you're so corrected. Cause otherwise you might be in for an interesting few months." The Riddler chuckled.

_**To Be Continued...**_

**So that was like, a two week wait or something? Sorry. But at least now I pretty much know the plot and filled in a few possible plot holes. Updates should be hopefully quicker. Oh, also I refer to Deadshot as Deadshot in the text, that doesn't get annoying does it? I wasn't sure whether or not to use the villains real name or not. Anyway, please read and review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Bruce Wayne**

A beach. Sand. Sun shines upon it. The beautiful tide shimmers against it. Picturesque. Quiet. Minutes past and you look down upon it. Flying. Gravity is nothing. Not a care in the world. No crime. No battle. Simplicity. And there you are. On the beach. Happy. Content. Mom and Dad with you. You don't know how lucky you are. And that's perfect.

Than a blink and it dissapears. Now wallks. Emptyness. A bed. A man. Dull and dank, a lifeless place. Shouting. Howling.

Than a blink and the paradise reappears. Beautiful. Perfect. Impossible. A few more seconds to savour it. Than it's gone.

Another blink. You are Batman. Your parents are dead. Bruce Wayne died that night to. You wear a mask to protect the few left you love. But you don't need to protect your identity. You are the night. You are vengeance. You are Batman.

You are trapped.

The man looks to you. He'd old. Thin grey hair. Glasses. He does everything to look smart. He enjoys his superiority.

"Good morning Mr Wayne. We need to talk." The Doctor says.

**Scarecrow**

By are nature we love television. Are every instinct is to keep watch over changing environments. And that's all TV is. Just a bunch of changing images. Not that that doesn't mean it's ever so entertaining.

Medium security comes with a few privileges. Once a week I get an hour of recreation time. That basically leaves me staring at a television screen mindlessly. I feel just like a normal person. Today though people are talking. A limping guard. Darker nights. The weather. In a place like this, even the trivial things can get a good conversation. But we have something worth talking about today, and we're taking advantage of this opportunity. We have a new inmate. I'm interested.

"I heard we got new guards here. Maybe that means are new inmate will be in medium security with us." Black Mask says.

"A medium section? It begs the question whether we'll have the sociable psychopath like myself, or the more simple psychopath like Mr Zsasz over there." Penguin responds, doing the two things he loves best, complimenting himself, and demeaning others.

I'm feeling sociable today. And anyway, you can only watch so many reruns of 60's sit-coms. Time to join the conversation. Put that Doctorate to good use.

"And than what? We have another member to join are merry club? Perhaps we can all put on a production of A Street Car Named Desire together. But I'm going to have to be Mitch. Maybe are sociable psychopath can be Blanche." I wittily remark, or at least in my own mind.

There is a silence and I'm fairly certain I've managed to crush a few hopes of my fellow inmates. I smile at this achievement.

**Bruce Wayne**

"I suppose the most simple term would be a delusion of personality. You believe yourself to be Batman." The Doctor, now calling himself Doctor Levi explains.

"Well I wouldn't say deluded. I do read the papers enough to know I'm Bruce Wayne, drunk, rich, womaniser of Gotham City. I think Garfield must have told John it in the funny pages. I know I'm no Batman."

I focus. I think. I put on my mask and I become Bruce Wayne.

"Than would you care to explain last night?" Dr Levi asks.

"I get bored sometimes. Wayne Enterprises makes some really cool toys. I think they're working on some sort of anti Shark repellent next. Sometimes I think do what Batman does. It's kind of fun. You can cut all the lines you want."

"My Wayne, forgive me if I doubt that story somewhat. There might be some truth to that story somewhere, but what I think we have here is a man who truly believes the part, I think you truly believe you are Batman. And such a delusion is not only dangerous mentally, but of course, comes with a few added dangers."

"If you're so certain I believe I'm Batman, who's to say I'm not."

"Precisely. And I must admit I'm very fortunate today, because I have just the evidence to help you take your first step to recovery."

**Scarecrow**

He's propping the ladder up against the branch. He's getting the saw out and sawing the branch. The same branch his ladder is leaning on. Apparently I'm supposed to find this funny.

Zsasz is chuckling though. I suppose that's something.

And now we have visitors. Guards. New guys. All change apparently. Fun fun fun. And these guys are serious. We're to get out of our chairs, to the side of the wall. These guys are enjoying their new powers. Oh well, play along.

"Gentlemen. We have a new guest in medium security block. Meet Mr Bruce Wayne, suffering from violent delusions."

Bruce Wayne. I didn't see that coming. The richest man in Gotham. Pampered play boy. My ex-room mate was a mentally unstable sniper. He only lasted a year. Bruce Wayne wont last a month.

**Bruce Wayne**

They've turned on the news for me to watch. A chase. A van is driving recklessly. Violently. A crime is in progress. And I should be there. And the weird thing is, I am. The Bat-Mobile, it's there, and it's in pursuit. The engines, the sleek black shape. The weaponry. For a man with a no-gun rule, sometimes I feel I undermine in somewhat.

"Mr Wayne. There was a robbery at the Gotham bank this morning. Two criminals took hostages and began to get away by van. I believe you'd know them as Copperhead and Bane. However, we've I think a few minutes ago the Bat Mobile was on the scene. I want you to watch this. It's live. I want you to see that you are not The Batman."

The van has stopped now. With the aid of a sharp corner. And than they're out. Flamboyant as always. The criminals in Gotham are renowned for their insanity. Their dress sense proves it. The orange snake suit with a nice long tail, granting the power of being quickly tripped and left exposed for the knock out blow. And Bane, the gift of dumb muscle, granting the power to leave his guard down, leaving him exposed to enough blows that he wont last more than a few minutes.

And than the battle is over. He is away. Batman is away. I am away.

"You are not Batman Mr Wayne. You are not Batman."

**Scarecrow**

"Odd." Zsasz says.

Zsasz doesn't speak. He keeps silent, keeping whatever weird and wonderful thoughts he has to himself. We all appreciate this. But today is different. Today has been very different actually. A new inmate. A glance at the news. A glance at Batman, fighting crime in the outside world, getting a few of our friends to come back to us. Taunting us in his own special way.

"And why would that be Zsasz?" I ask. I'm curious. It's a fun day so far.

"Copperhead is in minimum security. But now he's fighting Batman. He's in two places at once." Zsasz replies.

Than he's quiet again. To be honest we appreciate this. I appreciate this. We don't need any other interesting points today.

We have Bruce Wayne

I have a new neighbour.

**To be continued...**

**Yes, it took me a while to get this part out there, the next 1 or 2 parts should come out sooner. Comic book fans might also note that Copperhead is dead in the mainstream continuity. Yes, I know this however I like the character too much. I suppose this is maybe a slightly more general Batman Universe, pretty much normal with a few slight differences. Anyway, I hope to the next part out soon, which will hopefully involve the Joker...**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Scarecrow...**_

I was caught by Batman about six months ago and taken to the new and improved Arkham Asylum. Tighter security. Smarter guards. Bigger walls. The last six months it's been working very well, much to my annoyance. It's the bucket that used to leak, letting the water fall out, making everybody wet. Now there isn't a leak, and all that wet water is starting to build up, and this bit of water is getting very tired of being around all this other wet water.

But now we have something new for the bucket. Something that doesn't seem to be water at all. And I'm interested.

"Is it Doctor Crane, or Scarecrow?" Bruce asks.

If you sit close enough to someone, and stare at them enough, they'll eventually have to talk to you. It's probably not the best way to make friends, but I live in an Asylum which is going to put me in a cell for almost a week once this hour is up, so I'm hardly working under the best circustances.

"Personally I prefer Scarecrow. It's more memorable." I answer.

Dear God. I'm trying to make friends. It's kind of a surpirse for me. I've probably spent the better part of my non-Arkham life exposing people to their worst fears. Seeing how far their heart beats will rocket, how much persperation they'll produce, and how long their minds can sustain sanity in front of the things that haunt their darkest thoughts. It never really gave me a chance to socialise. And here I am, after my life of fear and terror has been robbed of me, trying to be normal. Trying being the key word in this.

"Bruce Wayne. I don't really have any nicknames that'll do me any good in here."

"Or any accurate nick-names for that matter." I snipe.

Bruce looks at me for a few seconds, a mixture of curiosity and irritance on his face. Well I tried making friends. Now to go back to what I'm better at. What I find so much more satisfying. Tearing away any hope they have through insults.

"Batman, wasn't it? Trust me when I say this. Batman has a pale face, crappy teeth and is about two inches taller than you. I can tell you with absolute confidence, that Bruce Wayne, is not Batman."

But for now this is over. Cause more fun has started. We're spoilt recently. Fun after fun after fun. When we go back to talking about the flies I'm going to be very disapointed. But for now there is still fun. For now, Copperhead is back home.

_**The Riddler...**_

What warrior throws himself at the enemies mercy. What killer abandons his sword to be a slave. The smart kind.

No one believes that Deadshot is cured. No one here thinks he's a reformed citizen. No one is going to call Deadshot anything but Deadshot. Unfortunatly, no one is also going to say anything.

However the new guards aren't no one. They're new, unprepared to the new regime. They're still looking at people, and seeing people. They haven't seen our true colours. And I have no intention of showing mine. Hence the Riddles are staying silent. For as long as I can manage anyway.

As far as the Blonde with wedding ring is concerned, he's playing cards with Floyd Lawton, reformed criminal, soon to be released, and Edward Nigma is approaching, yet another patient on the road to recovery. What is happening, is the Riddler is approaching. Approaching Deadshot latest escape attempt, only this attempt is the most cunning of all. He's doing it through legal means.

"Floyd mate, we're missing you back here." I say, the emodiment of normality, the zen master.

"In a minute, he's bluffing." Deadshot mutters, tryingg to emulate my normality, my zen mastery.

But his hunch isn't going to come to anything. For a starter Blonde-with-wedding-ring has a full house and Deadshot has a three of a kind. Secondly, and arguably more improtantly, Calendar Man has confronted the Ventriloquist over accusations he's apparently made, and a fight appears to be starting. It's all very unfortunate. I probably shouldn't have spread them. But now Blonde-with-wedding-ring is away. Time for a talk with my old friend.

"What did you just do?" Deadshot hisses quickly.

"Pardon? I'm just here to see if you want a game of table tennis. We have a real ping pong ball now." I reply, letting my normality and zen slip away.

"Bernie has a piece of paper in his back pocket before he left. He doesn't have it now." Deadshot hisses again.

"Those are oddly quick relexes for a cured man. Maybe on the outside you can be a PI. And it wasn't a piece of papers, it was a picture of his family."

"What!? Do not mess this up for me Riddles."

"Why would I do that. I only have a picture of his family. A threat who wont fight me. A desire to escape. And of course, I also know his name, Bernie, thanks for that."

I smile smuggly for a few seconds. It's almost as satisfying as a good riddle.

_**Bruce Wayne...**_

"...I can tell you with absolute confidence, that Bruce Wayne, is not Batman." Scarecrow replies.

I never brought Scarecrow to Arkham. Scarecrow was caught by the police, trying to infiltrate the Gotham library. Everything he says, has to be wrong.

We sit in silence now. Maybe he hoped he'd get conversation from me. He's bored, surrounded by the same rooms every day, the same psycopaths. I'm something new that can distract him for a few days. His true nature's to dominant though. He's still the same mad man who looks with fascination at all the dark sides of human existence. Picking Scarecrow was a smart choice. Jonathon Crane is too normal.

But for now that doesn't matter. For now I have Copperhead to attend to.

"You met Batman Copperhead. I want to know what he was like." I ask pleasantly, too pleasantly.

"Get lost rich boy. Can't you see I'm busy here." Copperhead responds.

He's playing chess without the pieces. He's not busy. But I'll find ways to keep him busy.

"I assumed an experienced criminal like yourself would know throwing an insult in my direction isn't going to work. But that's assuming your a comoetent criminal. Than again, you are stuck in here."

"AND SO ARE YOU!" Copperhead yells.

He pulls his fist back to swing. A good second passes before he finally feels he made his fist look tough enough. In my head I've already finished him off a dozen time by now. But today I'm not Batman. Today I'm Bruce Wayne. And Bruce Wayne fights dirty. Bruce Wayne always did have more fun.

**To be Continued...**

_**Yeah, you know what, I'm making no more promises about stuff. I can never live up to them. The Joker is on my plans. And so is updating quickly. But personal stuff keeps getting in the way. Anyway, this story will get completed. It will just take a while. Anyway, Read and Review.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Bruce Wayne...**_

Batman would have struck him hard in the stomach before he even had a chance to swing. Than struck him again just to be sure. Than he's strike again because he didn't like him. Followed up by a fancy kick to finish the job, just because he could. Cause he was The Batman.

Today though, Bruce Wayne throws himself into Copperhead, tackling him onto the table. Than he strikes him in the stomach, just because he doesn't like him.

Copperhead flails angrily. He just attacked the rich play boy of Gotham, and got his arse handed to him. Now it's not a case of looking tough, now it's a case of trying to salvage some dignity from this situation. Considering he spends his time outside of Arkham dressed in an orange snake suit, he really cares for what little dignity he has.

Were both up now, dragging ourself off the table, facing off. In a few seconds the guards will be here. We get one last shot. Copperhead needs to make it count. He shows off his fangs. I show of that chess board he was playing with. It hits him hard in the jaw. Very hard. This time he knows to stay down. Just in time for the guards to arrive as well.

_**Bruce Wayne, solitary confinement...**_

A padded cell. Maybe that fight wasn't a good idea. No closer to figuring out what's going on. The fight got me close to Copperhead though. He was limping. Possible slash wound. A knife? Claws? A batmarang? His face was slowly bruising. A fall down the stairs? Police brutality? A punch from a certain Vigilante? The Vigilante? The Green Arrow? The Batman?

I saw him on the television taking a beating from Batman. A good beating. I was impressed. It gets me thinking to just how convincing that Batman was. If it were another hero, I might even think he were the real deal.

But these thoughts are interrupted. Thankfully. I don't want to delve to deep into my mind. My mind isn't a nice place.

"Do you know what the difference between a child and Charles, Captain Benson? Any guesses?"

I know that voice instantly. Detached from reality. Swimming in the abyss. Raging against the world. The Joker.

This is solitary confinement and Maximum security level. Where only the worst and the punished go. The punishment is being exposed to the worst.

We really are destined to keep meeting forever.

_**Captain Benson**_

"Do you know the difference between a child and Charles? Captain Benson? Any guesses?" he says.

Official rules say we don't call him by his name. We don't call him by any name. He's just he. We mustn't get close to him. People who do get hurt. Like Captain Charles.

It's difficult as hell. I want to get involved. I want to put a gun to his forehead. I want to pull the trigger and end all of it. If I get forsaken, so be it, God can do what he wants, providing I'm the only one God has a hold of.

"Any guesses. Come on. It's a real obvious one. I'm working with very poor material at the moment. Maybe I need a new act? Joker: Rap Artist?" he laughs.

Charles wanted to do it, and Charles was going to. But the the Joker, I mean he, was ready. Now I'm ready though, we're all ready. He wont get me like he got Charles. And than it's all over. No more good and evil. No more waiting for the sun to rise. Time to do this. Time to kill the Joker.

I walk into his cell. I draw my gun and I point it to his head. I ask for last words. I want to here him beg. I want to take every victory I can from this.

"The answer by the way: An adult teaches a child to walk. I taught Charles to hobble."

I pull the trigger.

_**The Joker**_

Laughter. You laugh your way through the abyss. The madness. The darkness. Laughter is good for the soul.

But people don't want to laugh. I try and I try and I try, but the world is so humourless. There are other methods though. Cause screaming is so very close to laughter. And as Agent Charles lay on the floor, clutching his sides, unable to get up, legs flailing, he was so very close to laughter. But no success. Now time to change target. Lets see if I can get Captain Benson to laugh.

I'm nearly there to, he's got the gun to my face. Nearly there. He's set up for the punch line perfectly.

He pulls the trigger.

Bang.

He's so very close to laughter now. He's screaming at the top of his lungs. He's rolling on the floor. Limbs flailing. I think I hurt him a little more than I intended. I shouldn't have put that much chewing gum in his gun.

Naughty naughty. I'll have to note that down for next time.

Note to self: Less gum, more gun. And look into career as a rap artist.

_**Bruce Wayne...**_

People are screaming. Ceiling dust is floating to the ground as people run from the floor above to get here. Looks like they haven't given this place the renovation the rest of Arkham got. I don't blame them. No one wants to go anywhere near this place. Moments like this explain why.

Now it's starting to dawn on me. I'm trapped in hell. But one thing that's going to start to dawning on them. I'm very accustomed to hell.

_**Well, I finally got to the Joker, and this chapter only took me like, a week to write, I'm on roll! The reviews I got for the last chapter made me feel great, and I'm glad people are enjoying my work so much. Thank you. So c**__**ontinue the trend please, as this was my first time properly writing the Joker and I'd like feedback.**_


	6. Chapter 6

******Deadshot**...

This is the guy who commits a crime and gives hints to the various law enforcements on how to stop him.

This is the guy who gives hints to the various law enforcements, when the various law enforcements happen to be one caped man who beats criminals into submission with his fists.

This is the guy who commits his crime in one of the darkest and dullest cities of them all, in a bright green suit and hat.

I really shouldn't be afraid of this guy. But than again, I can't fight back. I'm reformed. I'm the good little prisoner who has spent the last 6 months finding his way back to the straight and narrow. And its rewarding. I have privileges. I have trust. I have a heavily censored novel that allows be to escape this cell and pass the time in some merry English fantasy.

But he's planning something. And he wants me involved on his suicide mission.

And as my above points have alluded to, he'd probably be crazy enough to go through with whatever voice in his head says he's onto something.

I need to set the record straight.

"What did you do that for today?" I whisper to next door, trying to convey all my fury with what little sound I'm aloud.

"I'm the guy who commits crime and gives hints to the various law enforcements on how to stop me. I really wouldn't go questioning my logic right now." he replies.

******Riddler**...

"...I really wouldn't go questioning my logic right now." I reply.

I've been rehearsing that statement all day. I hope it got the right reaction.

"Don't give me any of that bull!" He hisses.

It has.

"You took his family photograph. Why would you want to know anything about him unless you plan on black mailing him!" Deadshot hisses through the thin cell wall.

"You seem to know the mind of a criminal very well for the man whose reformed." I note, stroking my imaginary beard as I say so.

"There's a difference between knowing how to shoot straight and actually shooting straight." He replies back, no appreciation for my analysis, or my imaginary beard.

"You're nervous." I say, calming him. "It's natural, you want out of here and the opportunity is in your sites. A light at the end of the tunnel. Hope. You're looking for any possible problem right now that could stop this, any at all. I might be that one. Listen, if it'll put your mind at ease, if you don't want to get involved, you can just say no, it's not like I have any leverage or anything."

It's the ludest silence I've ever heard. I can hear every cog in his mind clicking. I can hear him take in every word I said and look through every possible meaning over and over again. Leverage.

There is the rummage through his cell. The search for everything, everything in the world. To make sure everything is there. In his world though, everything is surprisingly small. And today it's even smaller.

"You know there have got to be at least 12 ways I could use a heavily censored novel to kill a man without leaving any finger prints on, well except that of the owner. An owner who'd instantly be there to take the blame for the crime. And the punishment."

I have my leverage now. I imagine he'll be thinking some rather angry things now, not that I care. I have my English fantasy to escape to.

**Scarecrow...**

Bruce will be in solitary confnement for a week. That's seriously going to put a hitch in the whole make friends plan.

Now what?

I could sit here in silence. I could count the ceiling tiles, if the number hasn't changed since the last time I counted (121 by the way). I could talk to myself.

"Hay there!" Me says to Myself, "Did you know that your displaying classic signs of repressed anger and could snap at any moment."

You know what, screw Me. He's severely depressing.

I notice a note on the table. I've explored every inch of this cell. I know it inside out. There has never been a note.

This is going to be a fun 10 seconds.

_I have Deadshot under my orders, and one guard too. We could pull and escape plan out of that - E. Nigma_

For the next few minutes reality is but an option I've chosen to reject. My imagination can run wild, and I can suddenly see light at the end of this tunnel. I can see an escape, freedom, I can see hope once again.

And now Bruce will have to be my friend.

_**To be Continued...**_

_**You're all probably used to the lateness by now, so lets just say the plot is actually developing now, and going in interesting directions. I'm really enjoying writing for these characters, I hope you are too.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Scarecrow, 6 months ago...**_

We're the odd couple. We're Danny Glover and Mel Gibson. Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker. Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman. Except less of the ethnic minorities. And Morgan Freeman never had a hall full of the Gotham elite at his mercy. But that's a side effect of teaming up with the Riddler.

It's amazing what orange juice does. It's a good way to keep your vitamins up. It contributes to your five fruit and veg a day. It rots your teeth severly. Also however, when combined with some other household ingredients that I wont mention, becomes a very effective explosive.

This isn't my style exactly. The police outside currently trying to tear their own eye balls out, now they're my style. But now that I've had my fun, it's the Riddlers turn, and right now he's holding the detonator to the rich elite of Gotham who thought they were here for an auction and making them work for their survival the only way he knows how.

"Imagine you find yourself underwater, your feet tied to the ocean floor with no way of getting them free, as sharks encircle you, longing for fresh meat. How do you got out?" Riddler asks.

We're on the run and all of society wants us in chains, this is us buying time till are ride gets here to bail us out. We might be in trouble but we're not going to let it put us down. We've donned are best outfits, myself the Scarecrow mask and sickle, Riddler in his finest green suit and bowler hat. We've put a lot of effort into this operation. We deserve the fun we're having.

"Stop imagining." Bruce Wayne answers.

For a drunk, Bruce Wayne is bizarrely good at riddles tonight. On the outside we might see a play boy with gelled hair and a well chiselled face, but underneath he is a man who has an excellent talent for saving his own skin.

I get a text. This is an awkward moment. The sickle is my only really menacing feature, and I really need to be menacing under the circumstances. I place it next to the table and check my text. It's our get away man, and he's waiting for us on the balcony.

"Time to go. Our rides here." I hiss at Riddler whose having the time of his life.

_**Bruce Wayne...**_

The same beach. Same beautiful sun. Golden sand. Water turned to heavenly diamonds by the suns rays. There he is again. Bruce Wayne. With his Mum and Dad. The luckiest man in the world. And he doesn't even know it. Perfect. But it's wrong. The world is blurry. Far away. So obviously a dream. An illusions. Leaving you with the knowledge that this isn't real. It never will be. You're parents are dead. And so is Bruce Wayne.

Than I'm awake. Groggy. Saw. Sleeping on prison mattresses does that. Especially those in the solitary confinement.

I have a beard now as well. It's hardly the best. But it's a reminder that I've been here a long time. Too long.

But long enough for solitary confinement to be over. One week is up. A guard comes to my cell, and the click of the lock confirms I'm right. But I'm always right.

"Wayne. Your week in solitary's up. Just in time for out door activities. Have fun." A Guard says.

When he says activities, he means standing and doing very little. One big empty stretch of land for the various criminals of Arkham to stand around in, and appreciate the joy of the outdoor world. And the electric fences and armed guards that surround it. Except for maximum security, like the Joker. Even the fresh air is a dangerous thing to let them get their hands on.

It's not the most interesting, and we're certainly not free, but it's outside at least. And than there's Scarecrow amongst the crowds, walking towards me. Just great. He's getting on my nerves.

"Bruce you heroic sociopath you. I need a favour." Scarecrow says.

"Yes, because in the last week I forgot we were on such good grounds." I reply.

"Don't be like that. It's simple. I'm meeting a bunch of guys and I need dum muscle. Just stand around and look like you could tear out their larynx and feed it to them at any moment." Scarecrow explains.

"O.K." I sigh.

I need something to do. And it'll be humorous to watch the villains of Gotham be BFF's. And also I'm qualified for the job of dum muscle. I could tear out their larynx and feed it to them at any moment.

_**6 months ago...**_

It's a nice balcony. Some nice and simple chairs and tables, coupled with a few statues to remind everyone they're rich. God I miss the days when I was rich enough to sit in these balconies.

But no time for sitting. Cause our get away ride is here. Sort of, but get away helicopter doesn't have the same ring to it. Riddler gets to it first, skipping his way there, full of the joys of spring. A good crime spree will do that to you.

"This has been a good night Scarecrow, mind if I call you Scarecrow? We need to do this again sometime, no one has your kind of style!" he laughs.

"Thanks, compliment me more when we're on the helicopter though." I reply.

I hate to be a spoil sport, and I hate to pass up compliments, but I want out of here now, I can hear police sirens in the distance now.

The door swings open for me to see the driver. Unfortunately my driver happens to have a bloody nose and a black eye. And Batman is next to him. There is a swift flash of darkness, and the detonator the Riddler was once holding is now in pieces, and a batmarang has narrowly missed my beautiful mask.

We charge. Well, Riddler charges, I follow behind. Riddler is down with a single blow to the face, but that valiant punch magnet has given me the chance to put my sickle to good use, swinging as hard as I can.

He blocks hard with his armoured arm and grabs with the other hand. There's a brief moment when my mind suddenly tries to comprehend what happening. Than it finally realises the sickle has been pulled from my hand, along with the top layer of my skin. It hurts a lot. But even as I'm figuring out this part I'm taking a left hook to the chin.

I throw myself forward, only to charge into a wall. Batman is fast, and I'm blinded by me current state of agony.

One harsh final strike to the back, than I'm getting a good look at the ground, only hearing a few faint shouts above my ringing ears.

"My God! Was that Batman."

"There's blood everywhere."

"What happened here sir. We were held hostage and I'll have you know Wayne enterprises has the best lawyers you can imagine."

"Security got him Mr Wayne, they did their job, you don't have to sue."

Well, they got me.

_**Scarecrow, present...**_

I need to stop thinking about past failures. It's bad for motivation. That was than. This is now. And when I get out, I'll get my vengeance.

In the mean time, it's time to seal the deal with Deadshot, with the help of my new friend and dum muscle Bruce Wayne, or Bruce as I now call him. Riddler's explained what he did. Odd, bizarre, but cunning. Teaming up with the Riddler always is.

I'm pretty sure Deadshot will be conforming pretty soon.

_**Deadshot...**_

"Screw you guys. Seriously, screw all of you." I yell.

I'm angry. I'm pissed off. So to heck with being the reformed inmate, on the straight and narrow. Today I am Deadshot, who is going to drift of the straight and narrow and kick their asses.

"I'm finding it hard not to take this personally Deadshot." Riddler says with the most annoying look of puppy dog sadness.

"My name is Floyd. Now like I said, screw you." I reiterate.

"Oh but if you keep that attitude up, I'll have to spoil the ending of that heavily censored novel I took before I use it to frame you for murder. You wouldn't want to know that Miss Havisham dies at the end. Oops." Riddler exclaims.

Damn it. I thought Miss Havisham was going to find her lost love. Lets get on with this ass kicking thing.

"So say you frame me for murder. Get me locked in here so I can rot. So what. You're all going to rot here as well. This place has changed. That new governor, he's revamped the place. They lock doors, they're sharp shots, the walls aren't climbable. You take me down, you go down with me, and I'm fine with that. I'm not going to work for you guys so I can gain the brilliant honour of getting wounded and locked up here again, minus my current privileges. Face it, I'm the smarter here. Cause I figured a way out, without violence or stuff blowing up. I'm going to walk out. And now you need me for your brilliant plan? Well screw you! Screw you guys to hell. Screw you, and your Momma's."

I feel smug now. I reckon I've bested them.

Than Bruce Wayne steps in.

"I'm guessing you know who I am. I'm Bruce Wayne. You've probably heard the story about the man who lost his parents and went on the sort of rampage a playboy goes on before going insane and ending up in here for thinking he's Batman. Well let me give you my interpretation. I'm the man who's been through hell and back, and driven crazy by it, so crazy they dragged me to this place. The man who thinks he's the guy who spends his nights beating bad guys to a bloody pulp. The bloody pulps being you guys. And now you're the man getting in the way of our escape attempt, thinking you'll call our bluff on our threat. Well guess what, there is more to that threat, not only will we make sure you never get out of here, and live your life a forgotten relic, never getting to fulfil his only goal for a brilliant death, I'll personally dedicate the rest of my life to making your life hell. And I have motivation, cause you just made a joke about my Mother."

I'm quiet for a few seconds. They know they've got me in their pockets.

Let this suicidal escape plan begin than.

_****__**Principle**_ Prison Officer R. Taito...

Life for Principle Prison Officer Robert Taito had recently been progressing very well. After years of hard work and toil his motivational calendar had come true: "Life is like a mirror, if you smile at it, it'll smile back." He was now head of Arkham Asylum, receiving a considerable pay increase, and head of Operation Finney. Life certainly was smiling back.

He lay back in his desk and looked at his office. Grandeur that could only come from converting a mansion into an asylum. An oak desk at the centre of a wall lined with beautiful book shelves. And a window that allowed a beautiful look to Gotham city.

He smiled.

Warden Benton entered. It was time for another report.

"How are things going with Wayne?" he asked.

"He seems to be conforming, but it's an act. He wont back down from his belief. I don't think he ever will, his condition may be incurable." Benton responded.

"Go ahead with the planned psychiatric sessions anyway. We have nothing to loose, and anyway, I received orders today, Operation Finney is expanding."

_**To be Continued...**_

**_This was difficult, what with the large word count but also because I've finally managed to set up most of the plot elements I wanted now, so yay for me. Hopefully big things start happening soon now. In the mean time continue to read, review and enjoy!_**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Bruce Wayne...**_

This isn't the first time I've been talking with a psychologist. Childhood was filled with them. People were always worried. They wanted to help heal the wounds. There is one thing you learn about these sorts of wounds though. They don't heal. You just learn to cope. Batman is my way of coping.

"Can I go to breakfast? They're serving orange juice now, and I'm really bored of water." I say, or rather Bruce Wayne says.

"Soon Mr Wayne. You're still trying to avoid the subject." Dr Levi replies.

He's still wearing his glasses and white coat, typical Doctor. He likes to be smart, in control, superior. And where else do you get reassurance of your brilliance than a crazy house. He has no idea what sort of crazy he's facing off against.

"The subject has been covered over and over. I accept I am not Batman." Bruce Wayne replies.

"You have said this, but somehow I doubt you mean it. I want to remind you of a few things. The Scarecrow and Riddler were captured by The Batman 6 months ago at an auction for the Gotham elite. You were there, Batman was there also. There was no way that you could have been Batman. Copperhead and Bane were captured after escaping two weeks ago by Batman, when you had began your time here. Once again, this shows there is no way you could have been Batman than."

"Yes, well if I was Batman I'd also have found a way out of here by now, and presumably a way to kill you."

"I'd remind you Batman doesn't kill, but I'm assuming you're joking around. I'd merely like you to think on these facts. They all conclude with one thing. Bruce Wayne is not Batman. And that Bruce Wayne is not well."

And he ends the session before I can tell him that we're all not well, we're all flawed in some way, and that these flaws make us who we are. For example, my flaw means I'll never stop, never tire, and never slow. Perhaps it's better I didn't tell him, it's a little to sophisticated for Bruce Wayne.

_**Prison Guard Bernie Jenkins...**_

_Dear Bernie Jenkins,_

_In a few weeks time, through means I shall not mention, I will have the resources and opportunity to find your family, Mr Bernard Jenkins. It is my intention to murder your family. Your beautiful blonde haired daughter, whom has just lost her first front tooth. She will be killed. Your wife of whom your daughter appears to take after visually, albeit with a little more weight. She will be killed. And your cat, Mr Cuddles, whom is adorable. He will especially be killed. If you don't follow my orders, they will be killed. If you alert anybody else of this, they will be killed. I will kill them all, unless the below list of items is not left at the listed place and time..._

For Bernie Jenkins, they all seemed like innocent enough items, it all seemed so simple. But he'd heard rumours about Arkham. He'd seen occupied body bags being taken out, and the warning that came with every one, that they hadn't been careful enough, and had presented an opportunity for the criminals. Doing this didn't seem very careful.

For a little while he weighed up his options. He'd been friendly with the prisoners. He'd chatted with them. Played cards with them. Presented an opportunity around them. Maybe, he thought, this situation that he faced right now, was his own body bag, hypothetically speaking. It is worth noting that Bernie Jenkins did not understand what a hypothesis was, hence the misuse in the previous sentence.

If he informed the other guards, he would be in trouble. He'd broken rules, he would be punished, and he'd be off Operation Finney, one of the more easier of the operations the Organisation of whom he now worked for had to offer. An operation that kept him in driving distance with his family. An Operation that gave him good hours and good pay. And a job that unlike previous jobs, gave himself and his team mates the upper hand, rather than the freaks.

And it was worth noting these freaks were impressive. They were fast, cunning, and powerful, as they were constantly reminded by the higher ups. And his family was beautiful, brilliant, and one that he loved. One that he wouldn't endanger. Ever.

And as he finished his list of reasons of why change wouldn't be beneficial in the grand scheme of things, he convinced himself to do as the letter requested, while the demands were simple, but would conduct an independent investigation into these events, in case any problems did present themselves. This was the decision he would make.

As however occurs though, when decisions are made with the intention of keeping life easy for oneself, the wrong decision had been made.

_**Scarecrow...**_

The new people running this place are lazy. Group breakfast sessions are back on again. And we get proper food and drink. The old regime stopped this after it was discovered that when you put a group of hungry psychopaths in the same room together, they tend to start killing each other. However the new regime hasn't figured that out yet. And most of us are smart enough to not let them find out. They also didn't figure out not to leave family photo's lying around for the Riddler to find. Or giving us chances to meet and talk. But they'll learn soon enough. Until than, it's time to exploit this.

It's time for Riddler, Deadshot, myself, and Bruce if he ever gets out of therapy to plot our escape. We're like the Reservoir Dogs, presumably with a different ending though.

"You slipped him the note Deadshot?" Riddler asks.

"Yeah. Zsasz will pick it up when the when the guards aren't around and gives it to Scarecrow." Deadshot explains.

"That's one step out of the way. Now has everyone had their morning drink orange juice yet?" Riddler continues.

A pair of no's from Deadshot and myself.

"Good, because you're going to pour them all into my bag today, and for the next few weeks to come."

"Why?" I ask, knowing this going to lead to weird and wonderful Riddler territory.

"You don't remember? The night we got caught? It's amazing what you can make explosives out of nower days." Riddler explains.

I remember, I also remember getting beaten up by Batman. Why is it that every memory of mine seems to involve me getting beaten up by Batman?

"The list of household items on the note to Jenkins? They're going to help make explosives?" Deadshot asks.

"That's the plan. If all works out, we might just get out." Riddler explains.

A chance to escape. It's finally presenting itself. I'm starting to feel emotions I haven't felt for months now rotting away inside this hell-hole. The sort I felt when I destroyed people's minds. They are brilliant feelings. I'm back in the game. All my life people have tried to ruin me, all my life I've gotten my vengeance, and proven them who's the real master. But I mustn't get too confident yet, there are still things to be taken care of. Like my friend for one thing.

"One final matter though. Bruce Wayne?" I ask.

"Don't worry. We're psychopaths, we might need him now as dum muscle, but I imagine an excuse will come along that gives us the chance to dispose of him." Deadshot says.

If that's the case than, than screw friendship, I want out.

"Good answer, and it's nice to see you answering to Deadshot again. Was it always just a good act? Did they ever even get close to rehabilitating you?" The Riddler says with a sinister smile.

"Hell no. It was always a very good act. A brilliant act till you three came along." Deadshot replies bitterly.

"We do seem to have a knack for ruining lives." I chuckle.

_**Batman...**_

The criminal lays on the floor battered and bloody. A slashed hand where the Batmarang disarmed him. A bloody nose where he head-butted the pavement, aided of course by the bat-lasso around his legs. And a black eye where he tried to fist fight with the Dark Knight, and failed.

Commissioner Gordon looked on, impressed. Another inmate for Arkham. Batman stood in the shadows, his job done.

"Luke Falcone. Bank robber, drug dealer, hit man. Jack of all trades. You know Arkham has been over flowing recently. Normally there would have been a break out by now." Commissioner Gordon said.

"Not anymore. Trust me Commissioner, no one is getting out of that place anymore. Things are different now." Batman rasped.

For a brief second the Commissioner looked up at the starless sky, and the complete blackness. It had been a stressful few weeks. By the time he looked back to where Batman had been, he was gone.

**To be Continued...**

**I did a little less POV's and more traditional narrative for this chapter, as I felt like I should try and keep a variety, though still keep the tone of the story. People seem to be enjoying this so far, so I hope you still are. Read and Review please.**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Joker...**_

Something is rotten in the state of Gotham.

A new regime is in Arkham. Out with the old and predictable, in with the new and very inexperienced. But these newcomers aer also plotters. Not that plotting is a bad things, I'm quite fond of it myself, and many a person will tell of what a nice person I am. But these people are plotting big. A plot very much beyond their limits. A very big plot indeed. And the bigger they are, the harder they'll fall, especially when they're pushed.

Gotham City. The city that's mine all mine. Well, and Batty-Boy too. No other hero dares to wander in for more than a few days at a time. It's just me and him. They don't want to get involved here. Cause when the criminals and hoodlums go to bed at night, having nightmares of Batman snapping their neck, or Superman breaking down the door, the heroes go to sleep with me in their dreams, making them laugh the only way I know how.

Cause I'm the man who who they never saved. I'm normal, so very normal. They defeat Space-Gods, and Demi-Gods, and fake Gods, keeping the Universe safe and Uncle Sam happy. But they never saved me. And they'll never save everyone. And I'm going to keep on reminding them of that with every little life I give a hearty smile, and a heart full of lead. Reminding them they're not Gods, they're human, they're very flawed, they'll loose, and they've lost.

And that's why it's always me and Batty-Boy. The one man trully prepared to take on the occupational hazards of dealing with the Joker. The two men who've stared into abyss, one staring back, one blinking. And I don't regret blinking a bit. Sanity is incredibly over-rated. I just need to get the message across to Batty-Boy

But you see, that's not Batty-Boy out there at the moment.

This man dresses like the Bats. He acts like the Bats. He punches like the Bats. But when you stare into those eyes, you do not see the Bat. When you stare into the Bat's eye's it's just one thing. Beating me. And with me, it's just one thing. Beating him. And that's why we'll never finish this game. Cause in the end, we're soul mates. In the eyes of this new Batman, you see a whole world of distractions, a whole world that separates him from the man I will spend an eternity fighting.

This man, is not my soul mate. This man, is not my Batty-Boy. And I want my Batty-Boy back!

And trust me, I'll kill to get him back.

_**Joker, 3 weeks later, Event X...**_

Boom. Bang. Boom. Kapowee. Boom. Blast. Pow. Bang. Kaboom.

Smoke pouring into my cell, the walls crumbling like ginger bread. This place is starting to feel like home again. Me and my maximum security chums haven't been out for a while, until now. And we've missed so much out door time. We're all very eager to play. We're just smothering the guards with love. Lunging forward to give them a big hug. It's just so overwhelming for them.

Two of them stagger back into my domain. Play time. A sneak hug to the neck and snap, he's all hugged out. Well, I'll make sure his gun doesn't go to waste. And if that other guard isn't using his own, than I don't think he'll mind be borrowing it, and he can go back to crying in the corner. Bang Bang. I did always like my gun collection before I was in here, and now I can go back to it.

And we're all done. The guards are all tuckered out. They wont be getting up for a very long time. Time for business than. But what good is business, without a business partner. But who to choose who to choose. Killer Croc? Too scaly a customer. Clay Face? He fights dirty. Bane? Bow there's considerably less bad puns to be made there!

"Bane old chap! I need a comrade for a little project of mine!"

"Not interested." Bane replies.

"Oh come now. It's a very fun proposition. And once concerning vengeance against a certain thug who put us here."

"Batman?"

"Something like that. You come with me and your old Uncle Joker will deliver you some piping hot vengeance."

"And what's in it for you?" Bane asks.

"Come now Bane old boy! Don't be so cynical! I'm in this for the fun! Just trust me, I have a cunning plan!"

_**Alfred Pennyworth, 10 minutes after Event X**_

The news is on in one of the many bedrooms of Wayne Manor. Smoke rises from Arkham Asylum. A fire is breaking out. People are running, screaming, fighting dying. A war is breaking out.

Alfred looks on:

"What have you done this time Master Wayne. What have you done this time." He says.

_**To be Continued...**_

**_Event X was big, and we haven't even seen all of it, neither the beginning, nor the end, merely a moment. But we will. Event X is the beginning of the end. Event X continues next chapter..._**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Bruce Wayne, Solitary Confinement, 10 minutes before Event X...**_

"I'm very disappointed in you Mr Wayne. Even though I'd never believed you were making progress, I was happy to see you weren't violent, keeping some amount of stability within your mind." Dr Levi explains in the most condescending way possible.

"Copperhead hit me first." I reply, not that it'll make any difference, the Doctor always has an answer.

But Copperhead had hit first, and hard. Should have seen it coming, but Scarecrow was talking, monologuing about a former student who always beat him in exams, and how he wasn't anymore. I was resisting the urge to tell him that he was hardly doing any better. While I was distracted, Copperhead struck me in the back, than again. He was putting on a show. I'd beaten him, now he had to beat me, and it had to look impressive.

Right about now Bruce Wayne became redundant, he would have just taken the blows, never getting a chance to return them. Batman on the other hand would turn around fast, and grab Copperheads next blow even faster and kick back. Villains never think to guard their privates, that's why they're in Arkham.

"That's not what the others said." Dr Levi responded, calm and confident, the armed guard behind him helping the calmness.

"Others?" I ask.

"Scarecrow, Riddler, Deadshot confirm you were the fight starter. They all seemed adamant you were looking for a fight."

Should have seen that one coming too. A villain betray an innocent and naive civilian. That was always going to happen. I'd been expecting it to happen tomorrow maybe, perhaps tonight, but not today. Looks like they have Copperhead now as part of their entourage. That's the last time I doubt their credibility, but after listening to Scarecrow rant for a few days, you start to wonder if the term evil genius is overused, and that they just hand degree's out. After all, Bruce Wayne has one.

I should have especially seen it coming when I was struck from behind, giving Copperhead the chance to fight back fiercely with a series of swipes. It must have been Scarecrow. At the time it just seemed like everyone wanted a piece of me now, that after weeks of waiting, now was everyone's chance to get a piece of Bruce Wayne, rich son of a bitch and general guy people would like to punch. It turns out it was. Penguin swung and missed, I kicked hard in the stomach with no chance of missing. Zsasz and Mad Matter were advancing. A chair in their direction slowed them down enough to turn back and face off against Copperhead again, dodging an attempted bite and striking hard for the gut whilst taking a blow to the chest from him.

Shots started being fired in the air before I could punch another hole in the Ventriloquist and his dummy. Guards were breaking things up. We'll never find out the outcome now. Batman vs. Everyone, it would have been close.

But enough of before, time to get back to reality. After all, it's going to start soon.

"What cell are we in?" I ask, coming out of my thoughts.

"7b, not that I see it's important." The Doctor says.

"I have nothing else to say." I reply.

"Mr Wayne. We are reaching a dead end with any progress with you. You have had these delusions since you were young, so young. You've gone decades perhaps without treatment. Decades of harm being inflicted onto the mind. And the mind is a fragile thing. Perhaps you really are incurable. Perhaps, to you at least, you really are Batman. I don't think there is anything I can do for you."

That's psychological help? They really do just hand out degree's. Welcome to Arkham, where rehabilitation starts with locking the door, and ends when they've thrown away the keys. Everything else is just a bonus. And I've had quite a bonus. Someone really wants me to think I'm not Batman. And I don't think it's Dr Levi, I think he really is convinced by his own delusions, that he's a competent Doctor trying to cure a sick man. Well, in a few minutes, he'll be a competent Doctor who has just watched a sick man escape, or die trying. To be honest I'm not sure which.

_**Warden Bernie Jenkins, Staff Room, 2 minutes before solitary confinement,**_

**_"_**You look happy Bernie. What's the story?" Officer Alexander Kettering asked.

"Lets just say that a burden has been lifted off my shoulders, and while there is gonna be hell to pay, I'm not going to feel it for a few days. In those days I am going to have sex with my wife, hug my daughter, and pet my cat." Bernie replied.

"At once?"

Bernie laughed. For the next few hours, he was determined to forget the consequences, and just think about the fact that he, nor his family was going to die. For now, that was enough, more than enough. The three had tried to blackmail him, but eventually, he'd caught them. And heck, he'd managed to unintentionally break up a mass brawl upon arresting them, maybe that would count for something, maybe that would make up for the whole, getting blackmailed by prisoners thing.

He was in the staff room. About to go on his last shift of the night. A TV and a bunch of chairs, crappy but enough considering what the Organisation had put him through before.

And some smoke. Actually, that was new, there hadn't been smoke here before. In fact suddenly the room seemed very different. The walls were shimmering. They were like water, fragile, so fragile. Falling apart, everything was falling apart. And Bernie didn't like it. It was wrong. The room was collapsing. His world was collapsing. And there was still the smoke, and the people knew. They were yelling, screaming as the world fell apart.

"There's a smoke bomb on your back Bernie!"

"GOD! No, please, I don't like them."

"Mommy! Please no! Not again!"

Just colours and light and chaos and screaming all together. Chaos. Chaos and randomness and confusion. Bernie didn't like this. The world was dead. Everything was wrong. His eyes were wrong. His eyes were burning. They had to come out. He didn't like this. Not one bit. The pain was unbearable, but the sights were worse. They had to come out. He had to pull harder. He mustn't see anymore. His eyes had to come out.

_**Scarecrow, Principle Warden R. Taito's Office, 1 minutes before Event X**_

I've rehearsed this speech several times now. I'm waiting for the opportunity, waiting for the precise moment when I can unleash it all. Now's not it, our new Principle Warden Taito wants to monologue a little first. As a professional monologuer, I'm disappointed, it's dry, just delivering home the facts, without the personal touch, the real middle finger to show them you're the one in charge. But every word he says it just another few inches to the pedestal he's putting him on. The decision to put us in his office, a few more inches. The minimal guards, so it can all be about him and his victory, just another few inches. He's on a remarkably tall pedestal right now. And I'm going to enjoy pushing him off it.

"...you're decision to send a second request to Mr Jenkins, was your undoing, your first order might have been relatively innocent, but your second order gave it all away. He reported you, and your plans to create explosives, and for Mr Crane here, fear toxins was uncovered. You were over confident, cocky, all the traits of the villainy in this city. And these are the qualities I will rob from you over the many years you are forced to reside here... including yourself Floyd, I'm especially disappointed in you." Taito says, finally finishing off what was essentially "I'm better than you." for several minutes.

"If that's the case sir, than I must say you're very stupid." Deadshot says, doing everything in his power to hide his smile.

"How dare you!" Taito barks.

"No sir, with all do respect, how dare you!" I exclaim, here's my moment, don't mess up. "How dare you think you could tame us! Perhaps you're new to this city, but let me inform you of something. We are the villains of Gotham. The gallery of rogues that roam the night. We are the creatures that haunt the mind of every individual within this wondrous city. The creatures they secretly love, doing anything and everything, free from what petty restraint society throws, etching our lives into eternity and being remembered forever more. People may remember Batman saving Gotham, but they will think of us cowardly and superstitious bunch dooming them so much more. We are the one's that will always survive through legend, through memory, through fear. And we, are unstoppable."

Damn. I'd wanted to say "lot" instead of "bunch".

"For example, you will remember this day very clearly as the day when using are extensive knowledge of the layout of Arkham, we planted are explosives underneath the floors of your office, causing an entire floor to fall through all of Arkham, letting loose every circle of hell contained in this area." Riddler explains.

I have a nice look at our Warden for a few seconds, I look at his scared face, savouring the emotion I love so much, and I think it good.

"This is the part where you hold onto something." I laugh.

_****__**Zsasz**_, Cells, 20 seconds before Event X...

C-Lister. Common crook. Has been. Unknown. Nobody drifting in a sea of obscurity. Yesterdays news. The little man with the knife who wants to take on the God-Damned Batman.

I get a lot of names thrown around when it comes to me. But they forget one thing about me. I don't do what I do for the glory. I do what I do because I love it.

I can here the explosions. In a few seconds my cell will be no more, and I'll be free.

Than I can go back to doing what I love.

And I shall be a blight upon the land, and all I touch shall wither and die.

_**Event X... They're all free... May God have mercy upon us all...**_

_**Batman, Gotham City, 10 minutes after Event X...**_

A familiar roof top. A familiar signal in the sky, sending out hope to the good guys, and fear into the bad guys. And the familiar duo on the roof. Commissioner Gordon and Batman. Crime was a foot once more.

"There's been reports of explosions in Arkham Asylum Batman. It looks like riots might be breaking out if things aren't stopped early." Commissioner Gordon explained.

"Of course. I'll get on it Gordon. I may need to call in some backup, nothing major, Green Arrow and Atom maybe. Don't worry, I'm on it." Batman replied.

For a second the Commissioner looked up to the sky to gaze at the light of the Batman signal. It had been a rough couple of weeks. By the time he looked back to wear Batman had been, he was gone.

_**First off, I always intend to finish this, have no fears, I may take some time, but a new chapter will always occur, especially now that some events are kicking off, second of all, hay, some really big events are now kicking off, so read and review please!**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Joker...**_

You go get them Zsasz! Eye of the tiger and shiv to the gut!

You hang in their Black Mask, it's bottom of the ninth and we need a home-run! Give them what for and lay down a flush!

Give him the full Nelson Mr. Freeze. Show them why you're the best ice based super villain in the business. It's a surprisingly crowded field.

We've got machine guns, yes we do! We've got machine gun how about you!

Oh, apparently they do, well, in their current state they wont be needing them. Yoink.

I do love a good game. And we have all the team players on board right now. Myself of Captain of course. I'm here for the inspirational speeches:

Cause I have a dream, that one day, heroes will hold the hands of villains, and beg them not to unleash hell. We will fight them in the jail grounds, we will fight them in the Gotham Streets! We will never surrender! For in darkest day and darkest night, all shall run around in fright, but have no fear, for I am here, to turn your face a healthy white. Ich nein ein Joker! They may take our lives, but they will never take my laughter! And they will know, that my name is the Joker, when I lay down my furious laughter upon them! They want the truth! They can't handle the truth! Cause the truth is, why did the chicken cross the road? The answer ny chum is blowing in the wing, the answer is to put a smile on that face of yours.

Also I don't believe in tipping as well.

I think the troops are inspired now. Good job on my part. And I do believe we're winning. Good. Now I need to deal with some business of my own.

_****__**Commissioner**_ Gordon...

"God damn it you can't just come in here and take charge of my Operation!" I yell.

"Yeah, that's kind of weird, cause I am, and have done, now get out the way." The asshole says.

He calls himself Mitchell, but I'm smart enough to know when people are lying. Or more to the point, when people don't want to tell the truth. He has a secret, and it's a big one, big enough to bring an entire army of SWAT troopers with him.

"At least tell me who you're with!" I ask, trying to stop this fighting, and focus on the crisis at hand.

"An organisation." He replies simply.

"Which organisation?"

"Just an organisation. Quite frankly it's out of your salary, all we need from you is your knowledge. For example, has the Batman entered the danger zone?" he asks.

"Yes, he mentioned he might call in reinforcements."

"Green Arrow and the Atom."

"How did you know?"

"What we know and how we know it isn't important. Just know that we're going to deal with this situation and get out of your hair. Everything will be fine." he blatantly lies.

Fine for them maybe. Over the years I've noticed the word fine is a very versatile word. I've also noticed that I come across a lot of different people who want a different fine to my fine. And my fine is a lot more important than their fine.

_****__**Principle**_ Warden R. Taito...

_"Never compromise, not even in the face of armageddon"_

Well that motivational calendar can go straight to hell Taito thought!

He was bleeding, battered, every muscle in his body screaming, and right now was hiding in a jail cell. That was probably ironic.

He had staggered away from hulk of rubble, hearing laughter and screaming, gun shots and crashes. He'd studied all of the profiles of the Arkham inmates when he got there. He had been fascinated by his new position. They were just stories. Books to be read and enjoyed, just stuff to feed the imagination. Now they were very real. They were dragons and trolls and monsters in the closet, and he was the white night who was supposed to slay them. Cause he sure as heck knew the black knight wasn't around to slay them.

Never compromise? Screw it! Right now he sure as hell was going to compromise. Right now, he was surrounded by an army of crazed hooligans. The uncompromising man might die a hero, with values and honour, but he would have the downside of death. And Taito liked life. A lot. Hence the whole hiding like a coward thing, some other white knight could deal with these monsters.

"Sir, it's been 20 minutes. Are we planning to do anything?"

Doctor Levi was here as well, nicely showing off his complete inability to have any skills relevant to surviving in the real world. If Taito was confronted by a psychopath who was in need of psycho-analysis, he might be grateful for the Doctor, until than, he was just the annoying man in the corner who talked far too much.

"Wait longer until things blow over!" he hissed, trying to keep quiet, not wanting to be found.

"But there are dangerous people out there. Bruce Wayne will have escaped, and I really think he believes..."

"Of course he God Damned believes! Listen, I am going to tell you a secret right now because the funny thing is it's probably the worst kept secret in the world. Bruce Wayne believes he's Batman, because he is Batman!" Taito snapped.

"What. But..."

"And the funny thing is, anyone who ever finds it out, has a horrible tendency of either dying, or being smart enough to know to shut up because of the previously mentioned dying. Now I reckon you're a smart man, so shut up!"

It was at this point in time the walls decides to explode as a screaming man was flung through. He hit the ground and stopped screaming, leaving the room uncontested to a maniacal laughter. A scarily familiar laughter Taito thought. Looks like the monster in the closet wasn't in the closet no more.

"Oh, Hello Warden. I hope I haven't caused too much of a mess. I have a horrible tendency to do that."

The Joker.

"But first, Warden, we need to discuss a certain matter involving the Batman."

At this moment Taito knew that the Joker knew everything about Operation Finney.

"How do you know?" he asked, scared for his life.

"I'm the Joker. I know everything. For example, I know how much pain you'll take before squealing like a pig. Want to guess? There's cake in it if you're right."

"You may be feeling happy right now, Mr Joker, but you shouldn't. Your current situation may seem brilliant, but it's deceptive, and may have left you forgetting that armies will be sent to deal with you." Dr Levi stammers, suddenly thinking he could be the hero.

"Oh, Doctor Levi, didn't notice you there, well I wouldn't want to leave you out of all the fun and games, why don't you try and psychoanalyse this mind, but I warn you, I have some Daddy issues."

_**Scarecrow...**_

One of the great things about having a Doctorate is being able to introduce yourself as Doctor Jonathon Crane. It gives you a title, a slightly more visible stamp of your superiority. Over the years I've found other ways of getting that much needed feeling of superiority, such as becoming a respected professor, conducting multiple successful experiments, discovering ways to mentally cripple a human being, and becoming an internationally feared super villain.

I just love attention, heck, I spent the last paragraph listing an abridged version of my achievements even though it had little impact on the plot. But the point is, when you see a boat full of SWAT, it's a nice confirmation of the power you hold and the fear they have for you. It's a nice way of stroking my ego and confirming my brilliance.

"Scarecrow, you're confident you Fear Toxins incapacitated the those guards."

I spent a week working on that toxin mixture with a half assed supply of materials black mailed from that stupid guard. And it was a bloody difficult task, but yes, but yes, I am confident, and that just goes to show how brilliant I am. Even in a prison, the door locked, the key thrown a way I'm still spitting in the face of the world.

These are the things I wish I could tell Deadshot, but right now he has a gun and he's entered his special little place where life means nothing, so I think I'll abridge my above speech.

"I'm confident." I say.

"Than there's no one to help these guys, this is going to be fun." he chuckles.

"Isn't it always with you?"

He isn't listening. He's too busy rising from his position, and setting the sky on fire with bullets. SWAT weren't even ready. They came here for a bug hunt. However this is a war, and we have no intention of playing fair, what with the whole "being evil" and all.

The first two men took rounds to the face and dropped before they knew what was happening. Than another man died before he could turn around. Than Deadshot was out of rounds. Real life guns have remarkably less bullets than movie guns. They also have remarkably worse aim despite being handled by the good guys. And that's helpful, cause Deadshot does have one trait you'll find in a movie bad guy. He has no desire to live. He is facing off against six more men, and reloading in front of them, no sense of danger, no fear. He really doesn't care. If he makes it through this I'll compliment him on it. It's a trait that will get him killed, but he'll get things done doing it.

He reloads in time to take a bullet to the leg, and repays in kind with a shot between the eyes. I suppose I should have made a joke about it being a Deadshot. But I'm not. I might be evil, but I have some standards. Deadshot throws a grenade, making sure that he's thrown it just poorly enough that the SWAT think they can throw it back. When in actual fact, they'll have enough time to pick it up and present a nice explosive target for Deadshot. Bang bang. One hit to a grenade later, the guards are dead. And we have a boat.

"Great job you two, next time, try contributing." Deadshot grunts, now feeling the effects of bullets to the legs and arms.

He's still in that little place where life means nothing. I decide to shut up this time.

"I could tell you a riddle?" Riddler replies.

"You could shut up on the other hand." Deadshot hisses.

_**Green Arrow...**_

Scarecrow, Deadshot and Riddler. Easy targets. These people have ruined so many lives, they'll ruin so many more lives, heck, they just ruined a whole wave of lives just now. I'll enjoy putting some arrows between their eyes. They wont even know what hit them. It wont be the death they deserve, but it's what the people deserve.

This Green Arrow job isn't so bad. I'll...

*Thud*

_**Bruce Wayne...**_

...well that hurt. The cape is a good way to cushion a fall onto a foes back. Knee's aren't nearly as good. But that would require me to be in a more selective position. And if I were in a more selective position, I wouldn't be in Arkham, not that I will be for much longer.

Than again neither will a lot of people now that I've apparently knocked out Green Arrow and The Atom.

Green Arrow and The Atom. They never saw this blow coming. Ray Palmer I would have understood, he's a scientist, not a fighter, a man who just stumbles in and out of catastrophe. Green Arrow on the other hand should have seen it coming. But than again I knew the answer before the question. These two men aren't Oliver Queen and Ray Palmer. Fakes. Imposters. And how many other imposters are out there right now, and who are they impersonating? Cause I have a few idea's.

_**To Be Continued...**_

**_Hay! I wrote another chapter! And it turns out 25 people from Guernsey read this! Is that Guernsey America or British Guernsey my home town! Cause if it's the latter I probably know you! Anyway, good to see I'm giving so many people enjoyment, and oh yeah, what did you think of the Joker motivational speech, that was definitly an odd experience writing, anyway... read and review please..._**


	12. Chapter 12

**_Colin West, 2 years ago..._**

The man was big, quite big. Maybe once he would have just been bulky but today he was somewhat fat. The years in which he fought on the front line were long gone, but the years in which he fought from behind the scenes were just beginning. His black hair and beard was slowly loosing its war against old age and conceding land to the grey hair, but in the process, the man gained a certain feel of wisdom and maturity, a feeling that this man had experienced terror and war, and was prepared for them now, and prepared to fight, something confirmed by a powerful stare from a pair of deep and powerful blue eyes.

This man called himself Mr Mitchell, and he was a man with a plan.

"Are you a patriotic man Mr West?" Mr Mitchell asked.

That was a difficult question Colin thought to himself. What was patriotism? He liked his country. He felt that, at the end of the day, it probably did more good than bad, and it should continue to be allowed to do this good despite the bad. Was that enough? It seemed so simple when compared to people like the founding Fathers, or Abraham Lincoln. "Patriotic" was a very general term, but this was a very general question. And somehow he imagined the man in front of him would only accept one answer.

"Yes sir." Colin replied.

"Good. But patriotism is a very general term. A lot of people are prepared to call themselves that, but are they prepared to fully stand by that title. Do what needs to be done so that they can still call themselves a patriot, still be a man who loves his country?" Mr Mitchell monologued.

Colin decided to assume this was a rhetorical question. He simply kept his silence, looking at the man with the respect he wanted.

"Cause you see, in today's world, we have so much resources, so much power out there. But the power isn't ours, it's just there, acting on its own accord. And if we don't use this power, we allow it to remain out of our grasp, and in the process, a risk to the country, or worse, unable to fulfil its potential to help the country. Than how can we truly call ourselves patriots?" Mr Mitchell continued.

This seemed logical enough. You have to be the best that you can be. You have to give your all for the good of the people. Especially in today's world, where there was so much that could threaten them. That was why Colin had joined the army.

"What Operation Finney intends to do, is gain this power, put it on our hands, and use it to its maximum potential." Mr Mitchell finished.

_**1 year later...**_

Damian McLeash. Hannah Murry. Rex Mason. Bill Walker. And Colin West. Five people who had volunteered to save their country. They sat in a room in relative silence. Everything was about to happen, and they were keen to prepare themselves. Until than everything was uncertain.

"You know why they're calling it Operation Finney?" the man called Rex asked.

"Go on than, impress me." Colin replied.

"Finney is the second name of Jack Finney, the author of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. For this Operation, we're the body snatchers. I hope I get The Green Arrow."

"Green Arrow? Arrows, tiny hats and domino masks?" the girl called Hannah said.

"Hay, Domino Masks are cool!"

At this point, Mr Mitchell came in. Everything was finally about to happen. He began, with his usual Southern drawl, a certain theatrical nature about him, getting across as much as possible, how big this Operation was:

"Gentlemen, and lady, I need not remind you the absolute importance of this Operation. Secrecy is of the utmost importance. For this operation to succeed, it must appear as if nothing has happened, that the people you whose titles you will take on will appear absolutely normal and unchanged. Now enter into the room and you will be informed your new identities."

_**Batman, Arkham Asylum, Present...**_

I. Am. Batman.

I am a protector. I am the people's saviour. I deserve to be where I am right now. The people are fine with me.

Colin had to keep repeating these things. He had to keep repeating them to himself, to remind him that everything was fine. But right now he was one of the greatest people alive, fighting one of the greatest threats in the world, he was in shaky territory.

Bane swung at him again, and missed. Bane was fast, but Colin was faster. He'd trained so long for this. To protect his country. He was going to god damn do it. He swung back with as much strength as he could summon, hitting Bane hard in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. Now was his chance. He leapt onto the doubled over Bane, striking the neck of his foe hard. Bane threw himself back, tossing Colin away. Bane roared out. He was angry. And he'd be even angrier when he realised he'd just has gas bombs planted on his face. But by the time everything clicked, he'd been consumed by the gas, and knocked unconscious.

Colin was pleased. Only one more to go. The Joker. It seemed so simple, only one thing, he had hostages, and a gun. And one was Taito, a major player in Operation Finney. Suddenly everything seemed much more difficult.

"Oh, now that harsh, what did Bane ever do to you? You know in real life he's a very nice person with a love of pretty Birds and Puppies." Joker chucked.

"He's a criminal who needs to go to jail, and so are you. Conveniently we're already in one." Colin retorted, happy his reply was witty enough.

"I'm hearing the Bats, but I'm not believing it, you need to emote more, loose yourself in the moment." The Joker replied.

"What are you on about." Colin rasped.

"Well I hoped you of all people would understand acting coaching. Perhaps my jokes are a little too subtle. Allow me to make it more blunt. You're no Batman!"

"What are you talking about! I am Batman!" Colin rasped.

The Joker wasn't convinced. He looked on, giving a deep stare from his deranged eyes, like he was looking into Colin's soul, and seeing Colin, not Batman.

"Sure you're Batman. And I'm The Boy Wonder." The Joker chuckled.

The Joker placed his gun closer to his two hostages. It was now inches away. And Colin was meters away. There was no way he could do this.

"Facing off against an impossible situation, an undefeatable foe, if I may be so bold, with a decision too hard make. You can't win. And here's why you can't be Batman old chum. Because Batty-Boy, he'd find a way to win."

It was an impossible situation. It was an undefeatable foe. And he couldn't make the decision. Because he wasn't Batman. Colin couldn't do this. He couldn't win.

He ran away. That was the only answer. Run, escape, he was out of his league. He ran away, running from the impossible situation, and the insane laughter from the man he couldn't beat.

_**Outside...**_

What do you do when the identity you took on, the identity that caused your previous one to be erased from existence, is destroyed. When everything you wanted to be is ruined. Who are you now, and what do you do?

This is the dilemma that this person who was once Colin West and once Batman faced...

Maybe if he followed the Bat-Signal that seemed to have suddenly appeared in the sky he would find the answers.

So he did.

_**To Be Continued...**_

**_You know, when I started, I really wanted to try and convince people that Bruce Wayne wasn't actually Batman, that he WAS insane, but that didn't work out did it. However it did keep a mystery to the story, which is now heading towards a climax, that is however, after we see what becomes of our trio of escaped villains in the next chapter... until than, please read and review..._**


	13. Chapter 13

_**Scarecrow...**_

It's like slipping on an old suit, except it's rags and a mask, but it's mine all mine. Finally, I am in control of my life again. I will eat when I want to eat. I will sleep when I want to sleep, but more importantly, I will kill when I want to kill. Jonathon Crane is gone. I am fear. I am Scarecrow.

"What is the greatest experience in the world? Freedom!" Riddler laughs

"Was that even a Riddle? Felt more like a rhetorical question?" Deadshot asks.

"I've been inside too long, don't worry, I'll think of more."

Oh yeah, and these two are here as well. Deadshot and Riddler. There might be not much honour amongst thieves, but there's enough. Enough for these crazy safe houses to be built and stocked up with all of Gothams villains various effects, just in case. But when you're fighting a war against someone as crazy as Batman, things like these become necessities to survive.

"Are we splitting up after this than?" Deadshot finally asks.

"Like you said before, we're psychopaths. Personally getting this far without killing each other was a miracle." I say.

And personally I want to be alone. I've been socialising far too much these last months, I need to take a break from it all, go somewhere where the only people I have to deal with are the patients of mine who are so desperate for death that they're biting there own tongue off in the hope of bleeding to death. That'll be nice.

"Oh, but this has been so much fun." Riddler whines.

"I'm sure I'll find myself in situations where I need a completely deranged nutter to provide me back up. And when I do, I'll think of you." I explain.

Riddler smiles briefly. If I actually cared I might smile back.

"The cops will be busy with our little breakout, but only for so long, we should get going." Deadshot explains to nods of agreement. "But just one thing, before we go, can I have the pleasure of killing our hostage?"

Oh yeah, we have a hostage, some skinny red head SWAT guy who's scared as hell, and the smell of urine confirms it. I forgot to mention him, but hell, I just broke out of Arkham, I have bigger priorities right now than the guy Deadshot shot but didn't kill. Give me a break. And I also have bigger priorities than the ethical issues over killing a guy that really has no influence over my life right now.

"Whatever. Just be quick." I say.

Seriously, the number of times I've seen plans fall apart because the bad guy is focusing on the trivial stuff rather than the big details, how he wanted to rant about how great his victory was going to be, rather than actually getting on with it and experiencing this apparently amazing victory. These situations are just too many to count. Is there something about villains and talking too much that's psychological? Do we just have talking issues? Maybe I could...

"Jonathon Crane, Edward Nigma, Floyd Lawton, this is the police! Give yourself up!" A voice yells.

The police.

...oh crap.

"How the hell did they find us?" Deadshot yells.

"I don't know!" I yell back.

We just went through hell and back to get out. The person who screwed up has just brought the entire wrath of hell back upon us. Understandably, hell is something we're keen to avoid. Very much so.

"What's that by your shoulder?" Deadshot yells.

I've had by back turned to for now, arming my self with fear toxin, preparing for a war. I trust Deadshot enough, especially considering the shared hell we've been through, however once I start feeling a sharp ripping in the back of my neck, that trust is right out the window. Deadshot can go right to hell.

"What the hell was that for!" I shout as the sharp pain starts to subside.

"How about you answer what the hell this is!" Deadshot replies.

A red dot, plus a bit of my flesh. The dots blinking though, a faint ringing coming from it. A tracker. Oh hell, this can't be good. The cold metal feel of Deadshots gun to my temple confirms it. Than there's another gun click though, and Deadshot is feeling a similar cold metal feel as Riddler turns a gun of his own to the back of Deadshots head.

"Hay back away from him." Riddler yells, a revolver pointed to Deadshots head.

Riddler's still loyal to me. Why? I wouldn't do this for me. And I love me. I guess I never got a chance to tell him how I really feel. And I might never.

"Give yourself up! This is the police." The voice from outside yells again.

Who could have put the tracker on me? Who could have gotten that close, when I had my guard that much down! When do I have my guard down? Wait, when I'm talking. When I'm talking to Bruce Wayne. But how could have he done that? Bruce Wayne is an idiot!

"Listen Riddles. Do you really think I can't empty a few round into you before you can even think about pulling that trigger?"

"Do you really think I can't gas you with enough fear toxin you start tearing your own eyes out before you shoot me?" I respond, trying to make myself sound scary with some overly wordy retort, but who am I kidding, right now I'm the guy dressed in rags.

"Come out with your hands up. We are armed and prepared to use force." The Police yell again.

Deadshot doesn't care whether he lives or dies. I'm just a self preservationist who's loves keeping his own skin in tact. And I have know idea what's going through the Riddlers mind. And... wait, where's our hostage gone?

Than I see him, the scared guy who wants going through hell and really wants out. And he's got a gun.

He shoots once, and Riddler yells out, staggering back and clutching his arm, but not before letting off a shot. Deadshot casually steps back, letting the bullet clip me, and my fear toxin. I suppose what happens next could jokingly be refered to as me getting a taste of my own medicine, but like I said, I have standards when it comes to jokes like that. All I know is that Deadshot turned to empty a few round into our brave little prisoner, and than there was Batman.

Eyes glowing red, body of shadows, shadows that consume every wall, every space, every part of me, all of existence. He is everywhere. And he's going to punish me, by taking everything from me. My very existence. It's all consumed by the shadows, by the night, by Batman. Leaving me just a drifting nothingness in an ocean of emptiness, fading out of existence. I am nothing. I have no control. I'm scared. So very scared.

And for a brief second Batman speaks to me in Deadshots voice.

"Sorry about this. But like I said, we're psychopaths. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some cops to meet."

Than there's some gunshots, but nothing matters, because I'm nothing. Batman is everything. He's everywhere, tearing me apart, taking everything, punishing me, crushing me, scaring me.

_**To be Continued...**_


	14. Chapter 14

**__****_Commissioner_** Gordon, outside of Arkham Asylum...

"The first wave of men were massacred! They saw us coming and they were prepared!" A SWAT reports, scared as things start to loose control.

Everything is going wrong, they know nothing about what they're getting involved with, and to a certain extent, neither do I. Things are bad right now, and every second they just get worse as the worst kind of scum roam freely around Arkham.

"Well than, what's your plan B? Every second we waste is seconds we could be spending saving those people stuck in that hell hole!" I yell at Mr Mitchell, deciding I've had enough watching from the sidelines, watching them screw up.

"We're thinking it through, like I said before, this Operation is just as important to us as it is to you." Mr Mitchell replies, trying to remain calm.

"I bet it is. Cause oddly enough, about a month ago a group of people simply saying they worked for "an organisation" came here and replaced every guard, every warden and every member of staff in this Asylum and I can't help but think it's a coincidence that an organisation is showing up now." I speculate.

Mitchell pauses, the sort of pauses someone makes when they're trying to find the best lie to tell.

"If it isn't a coincidence, it's nothing that concerns you." he replies simply.

He's not giving anything away and I'm not going to stop asking. We're not going to get along. But before this hatred can grow another SWAT arrives with developments.

"Sir! A truck is here, he managed to get out! He mentioned your name!"

Suddenly Mitchell's interested now. We have a man who's managed to escape the hell that is Arkham, and we now have a man who can tell us just how much of a hell Arkham is, turning our worst dreams into a reality.

The truck pulls up, a typical prisoner holding bus with a large holding area and bulky build to resist attacks. A man opens the door and gets out. I'd like to see his face right now to see what kind of person I'm dealing with, but no such luck. He's covered his face up well, a helmet, darkened goggles and a scarf to make sure we get no view his face. This is suspicious, and given the current circumstances I'm working under, that's saying something.

"Mr Mitchell?" the man asks to a nod from Mitchell. "I got out, I have some prisoners in the back."

Mitchell goes to the back, with a look on his face as if he's trying to put two and two together. Apparently he's not used to prisoners, or people knowing his name.

The man opens the door and we both look in. Two people cuffed and restrained sit in seats, both battered and unconscious. Green Arrow and The Atom.

Suddenly Mitchell yelps out, just managing to make this pathetic sounds before he's lying on the ground unconscious. This man has turned hostile, very hostile. I'm about to fight back before he starts talking with a familiar gruff tone.

"Your name is Jim Gordon. A Commissioner, husband and Father. You're a policemen, an honest one, and sometimes you think you're the only honest policemen in this city, that you're all alone and fighting this fight by yourself, and maybe that's why you turned to me. I know all of this, because I'm Batman."

I'm silent, I'm just trying to take this in. That's the voice of Batman, those are the words of Batman. But is it really him?

"I'll explain later, right now, here." Batman (apparently) says to me, throwing me a small electronic device with a glowing blue screen. "I found some tunnels under Arkham a few years back. I renovated them into a home away from home. It's the perfect way to sneak in unnoticed. This device will give them your location, and the caves will also give you access to various parts of Arkham as illustrated by the device. Use them to take back Arkham, before it's too late."

He says this while he hauls Mitchell into his chair, restraining him like the other two, and than heads back for the drving seat, assuming he's going on his mission alone. Like hell he is.

"Like hell you're going alone! I'm coming with you." I tell him.

Apparently I've decided this is Batman. He just told me he has tunnels across Arkham, his own little base of crime fighting underneath the heart of criminal activity itself. It's bold. It's ridiculous. And if it worked it would be amazing. And he explained it without any sign that it was out of the ordinary. That sounds Batman enough for me.

"Someone needs to coordinate the retaking of Arkham." He replies.

"I already called someone in." I answer.

And my guy chooses now to conveniently arrive. An old car, battered with years of use, it really doesn't paint the picture of a war hero who's going to save Arkham, but I know the man well enough to know to never underestimate him. Aaron Cash. He's a guard who's been in Arkham a long time, too long and he knows it well, now that he has these tunnels he has more than he needs.

I explain the situation to him and than I'm gone with this overly dressed guard claiming to be Batman.

"I'm guessing this explanation will require me to take notes?" I chuckle.

_**10 minutes later...**_

"God damn it Superman. If you happen to get this message head to Gotham. You might not make it in time but I'm sure some people will appreciate the gesture." Batman yells into a phone he's borrowed from me. I'm unsure if I'll get it back.

"He's off planet at the moment, apparently there was some big space emergency so left about a month ago." I explain.

"A month ago. How convenient." he mutters.

He's thinking. I can't see a bit of his face, but I can see a man in thought, plotting for every action, every mistake, every eventuality and every outcome, and trying to shape them all to victory. But what he's just described, kidnapping, double gangers, and as we only discovered two minutes ago searching the bus, Kryptonite laced bullets, this stuff is big. These people are prepared for everything. And prepared to do anything. Now it's just a question as to whether Batman can out prepare their preparations.

And all through this story, he never mentioned his name. Everything he's been through and he's still going on like it's just another case, just another adventure for Batman to solve. No matter how big the challenge, it's still just a challenge to him.

And here's a challenge of my own. The fact that I could search Arkham Asylum records, find out admitants within the last month, compare it to what we know of Batman. Find out who he is. Who's under the mask. But I wont. I trust him too much, and I think far too much of him and what he does. And I think he knows it. Like I said, every action, mistake, eventuality and outcome. He's got it all under control.

"So if they kidnapped you, why did everyone in the Asylum treat you like you were insane, and not as Batman? I thought they knew your identity?" I ask, trying to put the final pieces of the story together.

"They must have been keeping my true identity to a minimum number of people, I don't even think our double gangers know who they're truly impersonating. But they still managed to take over a prison, they still managed to coordinate this entire Operation, the fact they did it while keeping my name on the down low is just a show of how dangerous these people are. How dangerous this situation is." he answers.

"And you never used the tunnel until the escape because?" I ask.

"I never had a chance, they were keeping a close eyes on me and the tunnel entrances were in area's unavailable to me. The break-out attempt changed all of that." he answers again.

I take it all in. This is one heck of a story. And it's not even over yet.

"You sure about heading to the Police Head Quarters? I mean, Batman isn't that welcome a guest, and the way your dressed right now..."

"Don't worry, I'm prepared." he says.

And I'm sure he is. Now I'm just interested as to how.

_**Gotham Police Head Quarters...**_

"He built a Bat-Base thing within Gotham Police Head quarters!" Detective Harvey Bullock yells.

"Apparently so." I reply.

Hay, I think to myself, Aaron Cash replied that their were caves built under Arkham Asylum which lead to Arkham, and that they were equipped with some pretty impressive technology. Right now building a small room in the Gotham Police HQ seems relatively doable for this man.

"But, there are so many questions that I have to ask right now..." he stutters.

It's a lot to take in I suppose. I've just had a little more experience.

"And there's one answer. I'm Batman." comes a familiar reply.

A long dark cape. Cowl shrouding his identity in mystery. A utility belt armed to the teeth with whatever preparations he's prepared. And the bat emblem, the sign of fear that he forces upon every cowardly and supersticious criminal in Gotham.

I've been meeting with this other Batman for some time now, and there's always been something wrong about him. Something not quite right. He looks the same, he acts the same and he talks the same. But he never had the presence, the presence that simply says he's prepared for whatever, and to do whatever. The presence that tells me that he is The Batman. This man has. He's the man who throws himself into incomprehensible evil, be it human, alien, or things beyond are comprehension. He fights these fights, never influenced, never corrupted. He stands with Gods to defend the world time and time again, only to wait for the next time. This man is brilliant. This man is Batman.

"What are you going to do?" I ask, knowing he has some amazing answer.

"If Cash is as reliable as you say he is, Arkham isn't a problem. One person is though, the Bat Man." he replies.

"How are you going to find him?"

"Same way you find me. We send up the Signal."

_**To Be Continued...**_

**_Firstly, on a trivial note, Kryptonite is an official word on spell check! Wow! On to more important business, I think I was toeing the line there with basically calling Batman Jesus only with a cape there for a second, but whatever, he's The God Damn Batman. And this things is nearly there. Hope you're enjoying it... Read and Review please!_**


	15. Chapter 15

_Note: I was initially going to wait a few days before writing this, but than the big news came! A troll flamed this story! I'm that big now that the Trolls are noticing me, and are scared of me! Hello Trolls. Boo! Anyway, this sort of compliment doesn't come your way every day, so to celebrate a troll coming along and showing me some love by telling me to stop writing so he can laugh in my face, lets all watch me continue writing (because I'm "so awesome it hurts" thanks PrincessAnnMacbeth!) while I laugh in his or her face for being too much of a coward to actually give his account or his REAL NAME, just a name that would only lead to an innocent bystander in all this, so I could reply to him or her._

_Anyway, Ladies and Gentlemen, now back to our scheduled programming..._

_**Former Guard Bernie...**_

My head hurts so bad right now. Everything is red, walls, people, all with a crimson tinge. I can feel blood trickling down my cheeks. And everything all looks so normal. What happened to the demons? Why am I still here? Why is the sky still there? Is Mom still alive? I think the nightmares are over now, the world is normal again. Well almost over. There are still these men everywhere, shooting, knifing and killing. It's funny, it all looks so real. A man is screaming for his Mommy as his guts fall out, he's trying to pull it all back in but he's useless, it's just slipping through those hands of his. He's crying now.

I have some weird dreams. I must have issues. My wife never complained though.

And now some guys are facing off against me. They're yelling or something but it's laughable, it's all so silly. They haven't even cocked the guns like in the movies, they wont will me. Or maybe they will, it'll be nice to wake up. I'll have an interesting tale to tell my daughter.

I wave at them. Hello Mr. Dream people.

They're still yelling, a lot of nasty words are coming out now. One has a weird skin thing. It's all green and scaly, and his teeth are sharp and it looks like he's got a lot of jam in it. I like jam. I wish I had a jam sandwich right now. Or a cheese burger. But this man does look very silly. It's like he's pretending to be a crocodile. What a silly croc. That's his name now, silly croc.

Now other people are yelling now. Bang, bang, bang. And these guys are falling asleep, even silly croc (several bangs to push him over), thrashing about a little, it's like their dancing on the floor. And look, guards, they're here. Hello guards, I wave to say hi. Welcome to my dream, I'm Bernie and I appear to have issues.

I'm tired now. Which is odd. Cause I'm already asleep. Maybe I'm going to wake up. That'll be nice. I can have a jam sandwich. Or a cheese burger. Or a cheese burger with jam.

_**Zsasz...**_

Life is brilliant. It's a massive series of choices and decisions and action which create reactions which create results, all touching other lives which are going through their choices and decisions and actions and reactions and results. It's huge. And I end them. I end it all.

And when I do, the choices and decisions and actions and reactions and results, I stop it there, there and than. And all those people, their lives have been touched too, by me. Me and my powers of death. My amazing little power. It's a gift. Cause when you kill a human being, and kill all of that stuff, for a few seconds you realise just all that you've done. And you realise for the next few minutes, you're God.

Why is it that some people can't stand these powers. They're amazing. More people should appreciate this power. Have you ever tried killing a person. I'd recommend it. It's better than Iron Man 2.

These are all the brilliant feelings I'm experiencing right now. The man is struggling. Crying out. Trying to anyway, the whole slit throat thing makes it difficult. He coughs up a mouth full of blood in a final effort to try and cling to life. What little life he has left. One final thrash, and he's gone. All gone. It's orgasmic. Like I said, much better than Iron Man 2.

And I'll appreciate these moments. Cause right now I've just been shot.

A horrible pain, every nerve in my body screaming out, my body loosing control, thrashing out. Trying to fight a pain that's everywhere and anywhere.

They got me. Arkham is being retaken.

Not that it matters. I'm God right now. And I'll be God again.

_**Joker...**_

"Please, Mr Joker, I know more than enough about your Father issues. You have problems, you want to hurt him, you just don't need to show me any of your revenge fantasies anymore." Dr Levi begs.

"Oh, but I have so many issues. You see, look at Mr Taito! Right now I'm just thinking of a way to make a punch line about how the cats got his tongue in relation to the whole slashing I did. It's all one big punch line for me. Like right now, here me out, I wanna just say. Doctor Doctor, I feel like ripping out your throat and feeding it to you." I reply, delving into my soul.

He's starting to sob now. It's a journey to hell and back with me. And I cheeped out half way there. Some people just can't take a joke.

Mr Taito certainly can't. Just lying there, crying, vomiting. It's very unpleasant. I feel offended. I'll have to teach him a lesson. Where to stab next?

"Joker! Open this door and put your hands on your head!" A voice yells.

Looks like the SWAT's are trying to take back the Asylum.

"Oh visitors. Goody goody. Well I'm afraid you'll have to wait. I'm very busy with some friends right now. And they wont be going anywhere anytime soon. We're having a very good laugh."

"Joker! Don't make us come in here." the voices yell, well, bluff.

"Oh please try, I'll be able to show you all sorts of funny things you can do to a Doctor and a CIA agent. You'll laugh until you cry." I inform them.

This normally takes a few seconds thoughts, so it obviously takes them some time. Than they're gone. Now where was I. Oh yes, torturing the CIA man. Because he's a schemer. Everyone's a schemer. But the schemes he's got. The secrets he'd holding. He's holding the the Justice League and I want them.

And the guards can't stop me. I'm sealed up very tightly in here with a CIA man that's too valuable to risk.

Only Batman can save them now.

This calls for an evil laugh!

**_To Be Continued..._**

**_Dedicated to Scar211, sorry mate that someone used your name and sorry you might have taken some heat over it, it's not much, but consider this latest chapter dedicated to you, as seeing this whole mess unfold firstly made me write this so soon, and secondly has made me just really sorry. If you ever re-post your stories I'll be one of the first to read and review..._**


	16. Chapter 16

_**Batman, Gotham Police Department...**_

I searched Mitchell and his Organisation when I was in my Arkham-Cave. Not much beyond what I already know. A former military General who's real name was Bornstein. I can see why he changed his name. Not fond of Capes, hence his employment to the Checkmate Group two years ago, and probably the reason why he suddenly ceases to exist 10 months ago. He went black ops. One of hundreds of small groups set up by Checkmate to try and pull of some crazy scheme. Most fail. Some however get lucky. That's where I have to get involved.

There he would have started his double ganger project, Operation Finney. Green Arrow, The Atom, Myself fell victim to his plan. And as we recently just learned, Star Girl was copied as well. Copied by a poorly trained double ganger, and one not good at noticing who's sneaking up behind you, but a Star-Girl none the less.

"Star-Girl? Of all the Super-Heroes you thought to copy you chose Star-Girl?" Commissioner Gordon asks Mitchell.

"This Operation has only just begun, we decided to Start with some of the smaller ones or the ones we could copy the best." Mitchell replies to Gordon.

"Begun? This Operation is over." I inform him.

Mitchell and his various associates right now are locked up in Gotham holding cells. He's still confident though. For the last 10 months he's been running a black ops organisation under the noses of the government, the people, the superheroes, maybe even the Check Mate organisation itself. That's a lot of power, the sort of power that makes a police cell seem pretty powerless. Of course that's looking at things from a relatively legal perspective, and if he thinks that's going to have any influence over me, than he's going to be severely disappointed. And he's going to be even more disappointed when I take him down.

"We'll see, I still have a few people out there, and my Organisation still has quite a bit of information." he chuckles.

"Your organisation only exists because of secrecy. And I've learned quite a bit about you Mr. Mitchell. Your name, your real name, your face, your associates, your operation. By the end of tonight every person with a computer will know all about this. And somehow I don't think they're going to like it, or that the government will let your organisation exist once its covers blown this badly." I explain.

He sits there for a few seconds in his cell, taking in his new situation, and watching his cell change from a temporary inconvenience, to a cell. But I can still see hope in his eyes, I can still see he was a few more cards to play.

"Than I guess all my best hope is resting on Batman saving the day." he chuckles.

_**Colin "Batman" West...**_

Everything is going wrong. Everything is falling apart.

"We're moving to emergency protocols. We've lost contact with Mitchell, Walker, Mason, and Murry." Bell informs me.

"What about McLeash?" I ask.

"We believe he went rogue a few days ago. Everyone else, we reckon Batman got." Bell tells me.

Captain Bell. One of the few other members on this team besides Mr Mitchell who isn't role playing. He said his job is to take the craziest of Mitchell's idea's and turn them into a plausible reality. Now Mr Mitchell's gone, Batman is back, and this Operation is over. We're redundant, so what now? Perhaps McLeash was onto something when he went rogue, perhaps he was escaping a sinking ship before it was too late. Only question that concerns us though, is whether it's still too late for us?

"But..." I begin, only to get cut off.

"Listen West, it's a long story and I don't have the time right now. I need to take care of a loose end, so meet me in 30 minutes at Point X and we can get the hell out of here." Bell instructs me.

"A loose end?" I ask.

"Just a butler, don't worry, we can still get out of this with some sort of life."

He hangs up, and I've got more questions than answers. Half an Hour to wait. But when every second is just another second your life could fall apart, it's a long time. But it's more than enough time to get to the Bat-Signal first.

_**Gotham Police Department Roof Top...**_

One moment Batman wasn't there. Than the next, he was. And prepared. He advanced upon Commissioner Gordon, ready to fulfil whatever final requests he had for him. But not the request Commissioner Gordon had in mind.

Commissioner Gordon was nervous. No matter what his brain told him, no matter what he had seen and heard that night, all his eyes were telling him and his beating heart and sweating forehead was confirming, was that he was about to pick a fight with The Batman. Maybe he was best prepared though he contemplated. He'd seen all of what Batman could do. He'd seen the terrified men dangling from roof tops by their legs. The incapacitated robbers with bloody and beaten faces. The bound criminals with batmarangs near by. Great, he thought to himself, I know everyway he can beat the hell out of me, that will make this fight so much fairer.

"Commissioner?" This Batman said.

The Commissioner pulled the gun and aimed it to the Batman's head.

"Freeze!" he yelled.

There was a flash of black, than his hand was on fire. A white searing pain. Blood. And his gun was gone.

The Batman than advanced. Gordon pulled out his baton with his good hand and swung hard, his attack connecting with The Batman's shoulder. It bounced of the armour as if it were nothing. Batman retaliated with a fast punch to the Commissioners jaw, the Commissioner falling back as if he had just been hit by a brick wall, or worse, by The Batman.

At that moment in the fight, the true Batman wasn't behind this Batman. The next moment he was. And the next moment he struck hard to the back of the head, sending his opponent staggering back.

The true Batman followed through by lunging forward, preparing to take him down to the ground where he finish him off. Half way through the attack he almost thought it was going to be that easy. Just after that though the other Batman was suddenly empowered, his legs rushing upwards while his back rolled with his opponents move, tossing the true Batman over his head.

The pair sprung up read for their next clash. There was maybe 5 meters between them. They faced off for a few seconds, both knowing the others move. In a split second their hands were by their utility belts. The next split second, the black flash of the batmaranng whizzed out ahead of them, towards their respective foes.

The Batmarangs collided. A flash and a bang. Stalemate. West knew Batman too well, and Batman knew himself too well.

West struck and Batman blocked. Batman shouldered West back and kicks out but West had already moved and struck for Batman's face. His fist was caught mid-air and tossed back, with Batman striking twice to the exposed chest of West, the armour unable to hold back the full fury of an angry Batman looking for vengeance. West resisted the urge to scream out and through himself forward, crashing into Batman. Batman staggered back but regained himself, dodging a desperate kick from West.

The Commissioner staggered up, now managing to suppress the pain and hobble forward with the gun he had now regained.

West saw him coming and went for his utility belt. Batman lunged forwards, but before he could strike, West had deployed a smoke bomb, and was suddenly gone.

The Commissioner heard a whistling and whirling, like the wind. Than suddenly he was tossed back, unable to move, his body constrained and the back of his head saw. The Bat-Lasso. Than a dark shadow. The Batman. And not his Batman. The imposter.

West thought for a second what to do with the Commissioner. It was a second too long. He yelled out as a white hot pain surged through his neck, his nerves screaming out as the electricity pulsed through them. An electrified Batmarang from the real Batman. He was on his knee's, watching as the smoke cleared along with his chances of victory, and a shadowy figure stand in front of him.

"Give up?" Batman asked.

Than West had an idea. One last shot. Because he wasn't Batman anymore. He was Colin West, Government agent. And unlike Batman, he killed. Unlike Batman, he had no honour, because unlike Batman, he didn't care about the fight, he just cared about living.

"The lasso the Commissioner is bound in is electrified, all I have to do is push this button and your friend here gets it. 60,000 volts of electricity, the sort of levels that cause the heart to explode!" West panted, his finger pointing to a button on his utility belt.

Batman paused and now it was his turn to think for one second too long. West pulled the batmarang from the back of neck and through it hard, back at Batman. Batman dodged, barely, the blade managing to slice a cut into his arm. Batman exhaled sharply. Than West lunged into the stunned Batman, knocking him to the floor. He struck hard to the face with his free hand, the other one with its finger on the button. Than he struck again. Than again. Hard.

Than the Commissioner got up. West paused as he thought what to do with the old man who never knew when to stay down. But than Batman acted.

First West heard a small bang, and whirring, kind of like his grappling hook. Than he head a mechanical grinding, once again, much like his grappling hook. Than he was flung backwards, his head crashing into the ground, his body dragged along the rough concreter roof, than off the roof entirely, as his grappling hook pulled him into the building next to the Police Station, once again, very similar to his grappling hook, if his grappling hook had been deployed without his knowledge while still strapped to his belt and set to its maximum speed and power setting. Which is convenient, cause that is what Batman happened to have done.

Batman was up, and saw West. And just before the grappling hook came loose and West fell to the road before, cushioned by a nice comfortable police van, he went for the button. There was a split second between West pushing the button and the lasso sending 60,000 volts through the Commissioners body. In that split second Batman through a Batmarang. It needed to be precise, to slash the lasso, freeing the Commissoner from the lasso and certain death. If it were to far away, it would miss the lasso, leaving the Commissioner to his certain death. If it were to close, it would strike the Commissioner, hurting him moments before his certain death.

It needed to be just right. Just right, was an almost impossible shot. Many would say you would need to be Super Human to make such a shot. Batman wasn't Super Human. He didn't need to be. Because he was Batman. And Batman always saves the day.

He made the shot.

The lasso slipped away, and the Commissioner through himself away from the lasso. Less than a split second later it was pulsing with 60,000 volts of electricity.

A few moments passed. West fell onto the police van, his armour helping him survive, but not doing much for the incredible agonising pain, and certain capture. The Commissioner realised he had been close to death, yet again. And Batman realised that this whole little adventure was nearly over.

"Batman. If its alright with you, next time, could you come to the rescue before the nick of time?" The Commissioner panted.

And for a brief second, Batman smiled.

It was nearly over.

**To Be Concluded...**

**__****Nearly done. This time next week (or before) I should be done and dusted. I hope everyone's enjoyed the story and particularly this chapter, as this was a difficult chapter, as I'm not very good at writing action. But I think I've managed to create a really tense and exciting chapter, and I hope everyone enjoyed it. But anyway, please Read and Review...**


	17. Chapter 17

**_Alfred, Wayne Manor..._**

"Wayne Residence, who's speaking please." Alfred began.

"It's me Alfred, I'm back, it's a long story but I think you're in danger." Bruce said in a worried tone.

"Well actually Master Wayne I figured this all out about 20 minutes ago, I'm afraid I have some good news and some bad news." Alfred calmly explained.

"What?" Bruce exclaimed.

"The good news is that I've taken care of our assailant, a man by the name of Captain Tony Bell, working for some sort of Organisation as he put it. The bad news is that I had to use the bottle 40 year old Bordeaux to incapacitate him. Shame, 1970 was a very good year, we'll have to find something else to toast your return." Alfred calmly continued.

Alfred Pennywsworth, Bruce thought to himself, the man who stood by his side at all times. The man who endured it all, the weird the wonderful and the woeful. And the man who had gotten used to all of it.

"Alfred, you're scarily used to all of this." Bruce chuckled.

"You've exposed me to a scary amount of things Master Wayne." Alfred replied. "And I'm sure you'll have a very scary story for tonight when you explain your disappearance, but I must ask one question in advance, is this story over?"

Bruce smiled as he realised the answer.

"It will be Alfred very soon. I just have a few more things to do."

**_Joker, Arkham Asylum..._**

"So what are we again?" I ask my two naughty students.

"I'm a scheming, lying, toe rag who's been involved in a scheme of lies and general toe raggery that deserves to be punished without sympathy." Taito recites, learning his lesson.

"And I'm a poor excuse for a Doctor, whose poor excuses don't excuse the fact that I couldn't diagnose a suicide victim even with the noose still hanging round his neck." Dr Levi answers.

"Very good boys, acceptance is the first step to recovery, the next step will be making you smile again." I explain. "You know some days I feel I should have gone into the psychiatric profession, facing off against whatever insanity comes my way. Cause I have the perfect answer for all of it. At least they aren't me. Or better yet, at least they don't have to face off against me. Which is unfortunate, because that's exactly what you two now have to do."

One evil laugh later, it's back to business. I advance on them, knife drawn. I take in every little emotion, savouring it, the fear, the regret, the begging, the knowledge that every little bit of hope is just slipping away. It's brilliant. And very soon, they'll be smiling from ear to ear like myself over the whole shenanigan.

"Joker." A voice suddenly says from over the Intercom system.

For a second I just hear the voice. The bold command from a man who thinks he can best me. Than I really hear the voice. Taking it in, and appreciating it. All those emotions with that one voice. Determination, anger, vengeance, pain, oh so much pain and anguish. It's magnificent. There's my Batty Boy.

"You're back?" I whisper.

"You played a risky game staying in Arkham, it's not going to pay off." Batty Boy announces.

"Oh, now that's my Batty Boy alright. You know, I had to deal with a Bat-Fake a little while back. And guess what, I beat him! I beat Batman! Well a Batman. And I told him that's the one thing I'll never be able to do to Batman, beat him. Wanna know why? Cause the moment I beat you, Batman dies. All the darkness, all the fear, the symbol of hopes and dreams and the American way of existence. And than you're just another angry vigilante raging against the world! And I would love that so much, to truly crush The Batman. But would I love it more than all these games we play? Cat and Mouse over and over again. Well why don't you let me find out! Give in, give up, call it a day, realise I've already one, that all I am is just another person who just happens to have the balls to show a person's real colours, the true insanity amongst a fog of false hope."

A silence. He loves the dramatics. What'll his answer be?

"Joker. You'll never win. I'm Batman. I always have the answers, I always find a way to win. Like today. I have a remote control over-ride of all of Arkhams defences. While we've been talking, I filled the room with knock out gas. I knew you couldn't resist dropping your guard for a gloat. I can see why. Actually gloating is rather fun. I should do this gloating more often Joker, after all, I win more than enough times."

Knock out gas! What? How dare he! How dare he fight dirty like that! Who does he think he is! Me! Oh dear. Oh dear dear me. Everything's quite funny now. Funny. He's making me fell funny. Knock out gas. I feel ever so tired. The fiend. He really is despicable.

**_Scarecrow..._**

I've been your narrator for this story folks, I've hoped you've enjoyed my cynical little view of the world and this story in general, and if you have a problem with me breaking the fourth wall right now, I'd just like you to realise I'm about to go back to the hell hole called Arkham, with all the old guards back, all the new opportunities for escape gone, and all my hopes and dreams shattered, so forgive me if I'm being somewhat inconsiderate. If you still have a problem with that, I invite you to go throw yourself off a bridge into an ocean of rusty and used syringes.

Cause now my world is just the same old cell again. The same old bed, same old toilet and same old crack in the wall giving me a chance to speak to my neighbour.

"Hay Scarecrow. Different lights do make me strange, thus into different sizes I will change. What am I?" Riddler riddles.

And same old neighbour.

And so I go out, no with a bang but with a whimper. The Ultimate nail in the Coffin to the life of Jonathon Crane. The Ultimate blow they could inflict on me, by letting me fade into the darkness forgotten.

But than again...

Same old guards. Maybe the same guards who know all my moves, and know how to stop me, but maybe the same old guards I've escaped from time and time again. Maybe this is just the same old cell for me to escape from like before.

"The answer is the pupil of an eye." Riddler reveals.

And I have this guy to help me. Same old crazy friend. It looks like that job I need him for has presented itself.

It only took me one month to organise a break out last time, who knows. Maybe this isn't the end of this story. Maybe the writer just didn't want to say what I did next. Maybe he didn't have the guts.

I've been your Narrator ladies and gentlemen, please remember to review.

**_Joker, Arkham Asylum..._**

One moment Batty Boy isn't here. The next moment he is. He does love the theatrics ever so much. And tonight he wants answers. He wants to arrive from the shadows undetected, try and scare me, force the answers from me. But I know him too well.

"I know you're here Batty Boy, I can hear your silence. You want to know one little thing from me. When I was interrogating Taito about his little Justice League double ganger operation, you wanted to know if I figured out your identity. You want to know if I did, cause you know I could. But guess what, you already know I wont, because I do love these games too much. And more than that, I reckon we still have many more years to play out. And they'll be ever so fun, and we'll make ever so many people laugh, laugh till their sides split. And you'll have so many more years to worry. To worry about that day when this stops being fun, when I get tired of all of this, and decide it's time to end it all in a grand finale. So yes, you're right, you're safe, now run along, fight crime, live your pointless little routines, and worry about that day I get bored."

Than one moment he is here. The next he isn't. And I'm left in my cell again, to plot my next game.

I think this warrants an evil laugh.

**_I know I said this would be the last chapter, but there is still one more to come, consider it a series of epilogues for me to conclude of a few plot lines that need to be concluded... anyway, do what the Scarecrow said, review, or he'll find you!_**


	18. Resolutions

**Resolutions...**

_**Justice League HQ...**_

"I got here last night when I realised it was a distraction. I'm sorry, but it looked like you handled it." Superman said.

"Yeah, and after all, he's no Superman." The Atom remarked.

Finally reunited. The situation finally over. Time to tie up what remaining loose ends their were. And confirm Batman's brilliance.

"But what about everything we just went through?" Green Arrow exclaimed.

"The Organisation was controlling it, the organisation is gone now. Their cover was blown and Checkmate cleaned up." Batman answered.

"We should thank them for that, if it weren't for these sort of guys we'd have to do some very boring stuff after the whole World-Saving." The Flash joked.

"Ha ha! Don't act like there's been no affects from all of this! People know our identities! People can act if they want." Green Arrow shouted.

Green Arrow was angry. Everything had been ruined and everything seemed to have changed. But no one was acting like it. And to him it felt wrong.

"But they wont." Batman said.

"How do you know that!" Green Arrow yelled.

"Because they never have. They know we have a job to do. They know it's a job only people like us can do. Do you think Jim Gordon couldn't figure out who Batman was? Or that Superman can do all the things he does and his identity doesn't get notice? They don't want to know, and those that do are cautious to act. They know we have a job to do."

There was silence. His brilliance was confirmed again.

"You really can be too smart sometimes Batman." Superman said.

_**Unknown Location...**_

Her hair was short and well trimmed, the focus remaining firly on her face, a continuous glare with beady eyes and a solid jaw. She was a woman who meant business, a woman who had to clean up all the mess that a man had left for her. She was Amanda Waller. And right now she was having to finish off Operation Finney.

Before her stood the one man who had fled the sinking ship. Danny McLeash. He was tired from days of running and his face battered from weeks of being a Super Hero, and failing badly. He'd started the Operation for his country, now he was doing this betrayal for his life.

"Thank you McCleash for giving up your Mr Mitchell to us. Unfortunately we've already taken care of his Operation, but call me sentimental, but I appreciate a certain degree of loyalty towards me. As such we've decided to act leniently towards you, unlike the various others involved in this Operation." Waller explained.

"So than what happens next?" McCleash asked.

"For them, I can't comment, not that you haven't figured it out yet. As for you? Here's the deal, live out the rest of your life under a rock, get married, have kids, just live the life everybody else does, normal and unnoticed. In exchange you get money and a new identity. As of now Danny McLeash stops existing, and Michael Shreeve starts." Waller explained.

"Shreeve, I like that. I can do that." Shreeve commented.

Shreeve smiled for a second, he thought of a wife, a few children, a decent business, and never having to worry about Super Villains again. It was paradise. Screw notability. He just wanted to be happy.

"Good, now go ahead and get to work on that normal life of yours. I need to deal with your Mr Mitchell." Waller explained.

Shreeve was walking out when another man walked in. He stopped dead. The man was dressed in a red shirt and trousers, bold and wild, with a brown long coat and a silver mask. Nothing about him was subtle, everything about him was crazy, wild, a man who just wanted chaos, not caring about the consequences, cause he had nothing to loose. The perfect henchman for Amanda Waller. Deadshot. He was back in Government work.

"They rehired you?" Shreeve gasped.

"Hay, I'm prepared to do anything, whether I live or die, and I have a horrible knack for never getting round to the whole death thing. I'm perfect for Black Ops Government Employment. Now if you excuse me, I have some people to kill." Deadshot chuckled.

_**Mr Mitchell...**_

Mr Mitchell stared into merciless eyes. The eyes of a killer. His killer. The man was going to end everything for him. Destroy his world. For the first time in his life he had lost all control. All he could do was recite meaningless words as his hope was robbed from him.

"Checkmate was founded to deal with the Superhero problem. I was only being direct about it, taking back the power held by the rogue's, giving it back to the Government, the people democratically chosen! You're punishing me for being a patriot, for loving my country. What makes you immune to all of this and me not?" Mr Mitchell said.

"The fact I have the gun. Now deal with it." Deadshot smirked.

There were gun shots. Than Mr Mitchells worlds was over.

_**Gotham Police Department...**_

Another night in Gotham. Another case to be solved. Another signal in the sky for the Gotham Crusader. Commissioner Gordon stood on the Gotham Police Head Quarters and wondered if he would show tonight.

But he did. One moment he wasn't there. The next moment he was. Batman was always there when they needed him. Always ready to fight his war against crime. Always.

"I didn't think you'd show. After all you've been through." Commissioner Gordon said.

"It was just another case. No different than any other." Batman replied.

"But..." The Commissioner began.

"That was than. It's dealt with. Now we move on. What's the situation?" Batman stated.

"We've had reports Captain Boomerang has entered the area, looks like your sort of case." The Commissioner explained.

"Than I'm on it." Batman answered.

He turned to go, but the Commissioner still had one thing to ask. Something he needed to know.

"Wait! I need to know! How long are you going to all this? Take all this? Keep fighting? Keep enduring?" The Commissioner asked.

"As long as I can." Batman answered.

And that was the only answer he had. The only one he needed.

The Commissioner looked away for a second, taking it all in, the Superhuman desire. By the time he looked back, Batman was gone. Off on another mission. Another case. Another war. Another story to tell.

_**THE END**_

_**Please imagine that the previous two chapters were reversed. The Joker/ Batman face off seemed more epic in my head but came out poorly. So imagine the Batman/ Batman face off was the final fight. That felt more epic. I hope it was.**_

_**Anyway, that's my story, something I've had in my mind for about a year and something I've worked on for several months now. It's over 25,000 words, and an expression of my love of Comic Books and the DC Universe. I hope you enjoyed it in the end, cause that's all that matters when you write a story, and cause in the end I enjoyed working on it. Anyway, please review.**_

_**THE END... REALLY THIS TIME, PROMISE...**_


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